She let her legs dangle while her eyes were glued to the ceiling that arched above her. Archihilles had been utterly thrilled by the fact she had shown interest in Sherry. But she hadn't been able to elicit any sort of information from him. Every time this man opened his mouth, the important answers moved further and further away. How was she supposed to gather information this way?
Neither did she know what the question about the safe should be, nor what the answer could be. Of course, time was also a factor. How long was she supposed to wait to provide Chrollo with answers? Every day became more dangerous, not least because Archihilles wanted offspring. Avoiding him forever was impossible. No excuse in the world would suffice.
With a sigh, Soleil turned to the side and drew her legs up. This mission was bigger than her and the certainty of not being able to grow into it pressed mercilessly on her chest. There was no place for her in this place. Just as there had never been a place for her outside of it.
Why had Chrollo's decision fallen on her, of all people? Because she was a stripper who would do many things for money? Or because she actually bore a resemblance to Lady Hiira, whom she had never even seen a photograph of?
Neither had a good ring to it, making each breath a little more meaningless as she breathed in emptiness to exhale fear.
With difficulty, she scrambled back into a sitting position. The sofa in the living room was comfortable. Not soft, but not too hard, either. The servants in the room lurked in pairs, each in a corner, ready to fulfil her every wish. The masks gave them an air of foreign distance to which she wanted to pass her questions, only to see them disappear.
But it wasn't that simple.
Probably none of them knew Archihilles' secrets. Neither the secret question, nor the numbers, nor the answer that was heavily lacking.
She didn't give the shadows a closer look. Ultimately, they wouldn't help her. The helplessness stuck entirely to Soleil. It was her problem and would remain hers to the bitter end. Even if she could get her hands on the key, it wouldn't be a success. She needed answers. Without them, Chrollo would not get what he was looking for. And she didn't know how patient he was.
Pressing her lips together, Soleil clung to every moment she'd experienced in the house. Every second that had sent a shiver down her spine. Every word she had exchanged with others.
But there was nothing.
Not a clue.
"I'm definitely going to die in these walls..." Tense, Soleil buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, the cold in the room seemed to bite and nothing was left for her.
"You seem lonely, beloved." Archihilles' proud tone reached her somewhere in the background, causing Soleil to emerge from her doubts and glance at him.
He looked different.
Blond hair, combed back neatly with gel, this time drawing him a prominent chin that didn't quite want to match the otherwise youthful face. Small, blue beady eyes looked at her and the wide smile on his lips exposed perfectly white teeth.
"May I keep you company?" With long strides, he came closer and, before Soleil could say anything, simply settled down beside her.
The cushion lifted her a little, conveying that he weighed considerably more despite his slender figure.
Then he put an arm around her.
"Isn't it dreamy here?" he finally asked. "This house cost a fortune when I had it built. But I'm sure you'd agree with me when I say that every jenny was worth it, wouldn't you?"
The money he took out of other people's pockets. "It would be foolish to say otherwise."
"You may not be educated, but I can say you at least know how to treat a man with respect." He snuggled closer to her. His hot breath brushed her cheek and the goosebumps on her arms subliminally drove the bile to her throat.
Of course, besides all this, he was alluding to her education. The big problem that made her unsuitable for high society.
"I hope my servants are fulfilling your wishes. As my wife, you shall lack for nothing." His hand roamed over the fabric that covered her legs; over the dress that clung uncomfortably to her body.
None of it had anything good about it, and yet there it was – almost like an unwelcome part of life that you just wanted to forget at some point. In her case, it wouldn't be the first time.
"All we need now is a child, don't you think?"
His question made her lower her eyes and think of something else. Carrying children for a complete stranger was out of the question. But she couldn't escape this mission. Either she would let Chrollo be exposed and die with him, or she would perish in the clutches of this man. Those were the only options left to her. Besides that, there was only success, the rocky path of which was almost impossible to stick to her.
Even before her thoughts could settle on anything, her body swayed to one side. In a flash, she sucked in the air, only to land backwards on the sofa with Archihilles looming over her.
"We should take the moment. I don't mind a few servants watching." Slowly, his hand moved under the dress, touching bare skin and making Soleil flinch. "And you can scream my name as loud as you like."
Probably she would have screamed. But her throat tightened mercilessly, her heart pounded, blood thundered through her veins, and Archihilles' scent made her gag inside. Still, she lay motionless.
What choice did she have?
His hands kneaded her thighs while his lips ran wetly over her neck and Soleil let her arms hang. Resisting would only lead to more trouble. All she could do was to endure. Sex was no big deal. She could bear it, maybe even enjoy it, if she just made up enough lies to spur her on.
It was for the best.
Her lids lowered as she tilted her head to the side and waited. Archihilles' hands disengaged from her legs, reaching for her breasts, which seemed a little too firm under the dress and bra. But he didn't mind, feasting on her flesh – until he took her head in both hands and puckered his lips.
He wanted to kiss her.
Probably more intensely than before.
So Soleil looked in another direction, noticed one servant and also how she tripped over her own legs. The tray in the woman's hands swayed, she lost her balance – fell. Two glasses slid down, spilling dark red liquid on Archihilles' back before everything crashed, splintering to the floor, startling her target.
"Fucking hell, are you bloody stupid, woman?" Horrified, he patted his wet back; his voice barked across the room. But no movement could be made out behind the mask, so Soleil clung to the pink hair.
Even as Archihilles jumped up and announced that he was going to put on something else, Soleil put two pieces of the puzzle together. She had seen this mop of hair before. This woman had told her what she needed to know in order not to start her task completely inane.
She was an ally.
"You should have fought back." As soon as Archihilles had disappeared, the stranger addressed Soleil and took the freedom of removing her mask. A sign that the other servant was also part of the plan. The stranger revealed to her a pretty, slender face with cat-like eyes of a soft blue and although there was seriousness in her voice, her presence seemed kind.
"I couldn't," Soleil finally replied. "I mean ... would that really have been an option? I would only have attracted suspicion and ill-will, which would have made collecting information impossible."
"There are other ways." Finally, the other servant spoke up. His voice nestled familiarly against her ears, and as he stepped out of the shadows and removed his mask, a shiver settled on her shoulders: Chrollo had been watching her. "There is no need to force yourself."
"But what other ways am I left with in order to ask the right questions?"
"The weaknesses of most. Alcohol and clever words," Chrollo replied softly, his gaze fixed on her without reproach.
It was hard to believe that it should be so easy when he needed a copy of the woman who had once been married to Archihilles to do all this. However, there was a hint of relief at not having to put up with everything, even if it might be a danger to the mission. Chrollo probably didn't care, but he also likely knew that forcing would bring no result except an ally turning against him.
Not as if they were really allied. He was her goddamn employer.
Soleil acknowledged it with a sigh before pushing herself off the sofa and adjusting her dress. "So I'm just supposed to be patient?"
"For now," Chrollo replied curtly before putting his mask back on, adjusting it and turning away. The woman did the same, just pretended that none of this had ever happened. They left the mess in place and it made the room more oppressive than before.
Her eyes lingered on the mess a little longer than necessary before Soleil turned towards the exit, leaving the living room behind. Calming Archihilles and using the corrupted desire as a gap for new information was the only thing she could do in those seconds. Patience or no patience, Chrollo was certainly not going to be put off for months just because she lacked weapons in a conversation. In that respect, she was probably actually more bumpkin than hoped.
The steps upstairs were behind her barely a moment later and even as the doors slid past her, she tried to think of a suitable opening topic. Worry didn't fit the bill. Neither did the tightness in her chest that bounced restlessly over her skin.
The door to the bedroom swung open so awkwardly fast by her hand that the coldness of the doorknob seemed hot and any half-solid sentence evaporated in her mind. But Archihilles wasn't there. Presumably, he had already changed his clothes or retreated to his study down the hall. The room where he took on a new form whenever it seemed necessary.
With a sigh, Soleil closed the door behind him and walked slowly towards the bed, glancing at the window. The afternoon sun burned low in the sky and the red clouds hung like billowing blood in the firmament. It was a wondrous sight and yet it held her spellbound for no longer than the blink of an eye.
Her fingertips slid to the zip of the dress to loosen the heavy fabric from her skin. There had to be more comfortable things in this house than endless dresses made of fabrics that lay like foreign substances against the skin. The stifled gasp of air as the dress gathered on the floor sent goosebumps down her arms. Rich people possessed strange preferences.
In her underwear, Soleil pushed her way to the mirrored wardrobe to dare an unsuccessful look inside. The only thing to be found among the wooden panels and varnish was a single iron bar full of clothes, the sight of which lingered like lead on Soleil's shoulders. No trousers. No blouses. No dress that looked like it could be comfortably moved around in – or even one that didn't look like it was part stock of a prostitute. It was hopeless.
The snort escaped almost a note too loudly as Soleil jerked her head back and pressed her lips into a line. She swallowed the frustration. Then she slammed the door of the closet, and heard it rumble, splinter as glass tumbled to her feet.
Instantly, her attention jerked to the side; still seeing the few shards dancing through the air as a man in the framework cast wide shadows into the room. Crouched there in the middle of that large window, he looked insignificantly small, but the expressionless look on his face and the needles between the fingers of one of his hands meant something else.
He lashed out in the same breath that Soleil absorbed the absurd image before she stumbled back two steps. Her thoughts were racing. How many times could one die within four seconds? An instant later, the needles slid out of his grip in a fluid, unnaturally delicate manner – the tips pointed menacingly at her body – straight at her. For a split second, Soleil's breath failed her, forcing her to hold her air as she stepped on the fabric of the dress she had removed earlier. Her heels found no grip on the textile, slipping and causing her to fall backwards, unrestrained – just fast enough for three of the needles to fly narrowly over her. The fourth dug into the ground near her leg and her heartbeat coursed rushing adrenaline through her ears. The world outside fell silent. Her chest tightened, and heat wrapped her in its arms.
Running away was impossible. He would catch up with her before she even got up.
But he's an option!, it shot through her senses. So Soleil opened her mouth – and filled the room with ground-breaking silence. Her throat was parched, her vocal cords lame. Nothing wanted to work.
The stranger, meanwhile, pushed his way into the room, striding light-footed over the shards in green shoes whose cracks coursed through Soleil's body like pinpricks. The long, black hair clung to his body like dark night and it was only when he stopped in front of her that Soleil noticed how tall he actually was. Definitely taller than Chrollo.
The flawless face, in which there seemed to be no life, no emotion, no smile, eyed her before he raised his brows slightly. "You aren't Lady Hiira."
His statement rolled ice cold down her spine before Soleil swallowed and nodded slowly. Her words chirped like a mouse's protest. "Just been the substitute ... for a little while now. Glad it's noticeable."
His threatening interest faded in the same breath. Instead of giving her another look, he turned his gaze to the door before replying, "You're chubbier."
The situation was inappropriate, frightening, stifling, and yet there was an aggrieved feeling in Soleil that wanted to complain about so much tactlessness. But the option of dying was still not off the table, so Soleil swallowed the bitter pill and remained silent. Her jaw ground. Thoughts tangled and her attention rose. She had to escape the problem – make it work for her.
"Where are Lady Hiira and Archihilles?" Though he showed little human emotion, his indifferent curiosity was greater than the aura of a man who wanted to get rid of her.
"Archihilles is probably in his study down the hall," she revealed readily. "Lady Hiira is long dead."
Not a move, not a word. Instead, the slender figure of the stranger started moving again, strolling silently to the door as if he had never been present. No strange smell. No presence. Only the broken window reminded her that he existed. Dressed entirely in green, except for the red shirt under the short crop top.
Before he could even grab the door handle, Soleil leapt to her feet, hearing frantic thumping in the hallway at the same time. With a few steps, she caught up with the stranger, grabbed him by the slender wrist, and pulled him back with a jerk. Her hands seemed to stick sweaty to his skin when he actually looked at her with surprise. She had to use it. She had to use him. In all this chaos, he was the only chance she could take advantage of if Chrollo's mission failed. After all, his demeanour had betrayed him. It was a game she had to win, which was why she pushed him briskly into the wardrobe and leaned against both doors. Sweat made her forehead cold as it throbbed under her skin. Adrenaline boiled her blood.
She was insane.
Between her inept method of wrapping Archihilles around her finger, outside of music and poor light, and the empty thoughts that left her defenceless, this moment seemed to turn everything upside down. It was the same courage with which she had met Chrollo at the beginning, before the memories of old days had brought to light a small part of her wounded parts.
Fear ate at her bones.
Not even when the door was yanked open with a thud and the woman who had tended the living room at Chrollo's side entered did anything seem to change. The stranger remained well-behaved in the closet and Soleil's parched throat burned like fire.
"What happened here?" With a single glance, Chrollo's assistant grasped the situation before eyeing Soleil. "Are you all right?"
"Nothing happened," Soleil replied stiffly, trying for a smile but failing. Then she pointed to the window. "But someone may have broken in and he may want to kill Archihilles."
"Where did he go?" Ready to dash off, she let her gaze slide around the room once more.
"He was going downstairs." It was nothing more than one of those cheap lies you always heard from men on the phone at the strip club. But it served a purpose.
While the walk-in ran off, Soleil pressed herself a little tighter against the closet. This man who waited so patiently inside had definitely come to kill Archihilles. From his behaviour, he was an assassin. And if he succeeded in his mission, perhaps she would no longer have to search for answers. Anyone could take Archihilles' place, and anyone could change the rules of the house if they only wanted to. It was quite simple.
Solely for that reason, she leapt forward in one jump and turned to the closet, its doors remaining closed for a moment longer. For only two blinks of an eye, until snow-white skin pressed open the wood and the man's slender appearance stood out once more. The black irises, the fixed gaze, nothing seemed to change about him and yet he showed reaction as he tilted his head.
But he didn't get to say anything, staying in his corner as Soleil put her hands on her hips to appear stronger. The shaking of her shoulders did little to help, however. "There are people in this house who could cause you problems."
"I know about that," he returned, his voice neither lowered nor interested.
"You're an assassin, aren't you?" It was rash, dangerous, and not her best decision, but she had to think further than from one day to the next. To be touched by Archihilles, to see what he possessed, was reminiscent of the luxury from which she had been banished. To have to continue dancing after this – the very thing that had always been enough for her otherwise – wasn't what she wanted.
She had never wanted it.
And suddenly there was this possibility, perhaps, if she was absolutely sure, to change something. To get something she was entitled to. Chrollo's offer would give her more money than she had ever held in her hands. And even if it failed, she would give her body to be able to pay him.
"What's your name?"
"Illumi." He answered more quickly than expected, but aside from that showed no honest signs of anything other than stiff, mild irritation. Probably most ran from him when they saw him, and she certainly would have, hadn't there been that small desire to connect.
A desire for a source that could be a first or second step. With him, it was possible. And the fear for her own life sank further. He wasn't here for her.
"All right, Illumi. How much do your services cost if I want to kill a human?"
His lids lowered as he eyed her more closely. "One hundred and twenty million jenny."
The breath found her lungs a little hotter. The price was too high. It was more than Chrollo had promised her in the alley that night. Then again, his services weren't out of the question. A human life wasn't cheap. If she lived frugally and danced for three more years, she would perhaps have the money together. With another simple job, with paid sex, maybe even quicker.
"How can I contact you?" She swallowed the sigh on her lips before taking a step closer. She was a potential client. You didn't just kill someone like her.
"With this." Almost casually, he pulled out a smartphone. His fingers slid across the screen without taking his eyes off her for even a moment before he held it under her nose – with nothing more than a simple number.
Soleil immediately looked around for something to write with. Sure enough, in one cupboard, she found an eyeliner with which she could write the number on a scrap of cloth. Messy and slightly smeared, but folding and stowing it carefully would protect the numbers.
"I guess ... you can go then." With a casual gesture of her hand, Soleil pointed towards the door, only to watch as Illumi snorted, barely noticeably, and turned away. He didn't care about the small, useless things that had happened in the room, that was obvious, but he was giving Soleil a chance. A chance at something better than the tiny flat and the unpleasant job that was more of a means to an end.
She didn't hate it, but she was getting older.
And the desire for better days increased.
The trembling in her shoulders still existed, even when she dropped onto the bed to take a breath. Anything that happened outside this room wasn't her problem. So she tried to relax, let her mind wander and wait it out. Simultaneously, her thoughts tightened on a distant thought that she couldn't shoo away. Maybe because everything seemed a bit more real by now.
How was her mother? Was she still ripping off strange men and women in her businesses? Had she given a single thought to her only daughter in all that time?
Probably not.
And maybe it was a good thing – good to know that she was still unwanted in this woman's eyes. It made it easier to let go.
It made her newly formed, completely insane, ungrateful plan a little easier.