"You're trending on every platform known to man, Mrs. Valadier."
Marcus's voice was too calm at 6:03 a.m. He slid the phone across the marble like it was radioactive.
The screen showed the balcony photo (me bent over the balustrade, emerald silk at my waist, Theo buried deep), but this version had been slowed, zoomed, color-corrected. Someone had added a discreet watermark in the corner: LV.
Lucien Valadier.
My blood turned to ice.
Theo walked in barefoot, coffee mug in hand, and froze when he saw my face.
"Show me," he ordered.
Marcus turned the phone.
Theo's expression went from sleepy to murderous in half a heartbeat.
"That's not a paparazzi shot," he said, voice lethally soft. "That's a sniper scope overlay. He wasn't leaking—he was aiming."
The room tilted.
Marcus was already on his radio. "Lock the building. Full blackout. Sniper teams on the roof, now."
Theo's hand found my stomach instantly, protective, possessive.
"Get her to the safe room," he told Marcus.
