Meanwhile, in the winding, cobblestone charm of Kensington, dusk had settled like silk. The golden streetlamps flickered to life, their glow painting soft halos across the damp pavement. Eliana stepped out of Le Jardin Secret, her breath catching in the cool London air. The dinner had left a knot in her stomach—a tangle of nerves, anger and confusion that refused to ease. Her slender frame shivered as the wind teased her curls, sending them flying across her face in restless waves. She raised a hand to flag a cab, relief blooming when a yellow light blinked in the distance.
But before her fingers brushed the car door, the night shifted.
From a white van parked innocently down the block, shadows peeled away from the metal. Three men—thickset, silent, and dressed in dark jackets that drank in the lamplight—advanced with chilling precision. Their faces were hidden beneath low caps, every movement rehearsed, professional.
