Page 85 of Temptation and Tyranny

The day passed in a whirlwind of sessions, networking, and information overload. By the time thelast presentation ended, my head was spinning with new techniques to try, research to follow up on, and connections to maintain.

As I made my way back to my hotel room, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I’d contributed to discussions, asked insightful questions, even set up a potential collaboration with a researcher from Stockholm. This was why I’d come here. To learn, to grow, to be the best physical therapist I could be.

But as I entered my empty hotel room, the silence seemed to mock me. What did any of it matter, really? The man I loved had accused me of betraying him. My father was a dangerous criminal who’d used me as a pawn in his games. And here I was, pretending that research methodologies and rehabilitation protocols were the most important things in the world.

I sank onto the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’d been trying so hard to ignore. Tears I’d been holding back for days finally broke free, and I let myself cry. For Cooper, for the life we might have had. For the innocence I’d lost when I realized just how dark my father’s world really was. For the person I used to be, before all of this began.

When the tears finally subsided, I felt...not better, exactly, but lighter somehow. As if I’d released a pressure that had been building inside me for weeks.

I got up, splashed some cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, my hair a mess. But beneath the signs of my breakdown, I saw a glimmer of the strength that had gotten me this far. The resilience that had helped me build a life for myself, away from my father’s influence.

“You can do this, Allegra,” I told my reflection. “One day at a time.”

The next morning, I woke feeling more centered than I had in weeks. As I got ready for my presentation, I focused on the familiar routine. Shower, makeup, hair. The crisp feel of my blouse, the comforting weight of my favorite blazer. Each element of my appearance was another piece of armor, preparing me to face the world.

My presentation was scheduled for the early afternoon. As I set up my materials in the conference room, I took a deep breath, channeling the confidence that had always come naturally in my professional life. This, at least, was something I knew I could do well.

As the room filled with attendees, I felt a flutter of nerves in my stomach. But when I stepped up to the podium and began to speak, everything else fell away.

The response was overwhelmingly positive. Questions were thoughtful and engaged, and several people approached me afterwards to discuss potential applications of my methods. As I packed up my materials, I felt a surge of pride. This was who I was, who I’d worked so hard to become. No matter what else was going on in my life, I still had this.

The rest of the conference passed in a similar fashion. Days filled with learning and professional growth, evenings spent alternating between networking events and quiet reflection in my room. By the time the closing ceremony rolled around, I felt both exhausted and invigorated.

As I listened to the final keynote speech, my mind drifted to what awaited me back in Paris. The clinic, my patients, the routine of my normal life. And Cooper. Always Cooper, no matter how hard I tried topush him from my thoughts.

Would things be different when I got back? Had time and distance given him a new perspective, as it had for me? Or would he still look at me with that cold, distant gaze that broke my heart all over again?

Lost in these thoughts, I almost missed the end of the speech. As applause filled the auditorium, I shook myself back to the present. One last networking reception, and then I could head back to my room to pack for tomorrow’s early flight.

The reception was held in the hotel’s rooftop bar, offering stunning views of Barcelona at night. I nursed a glass of wine, making polite conversation with colleagues and trying not to check my watch too obviously. After nearly a week of constant socializing, I was ready for some solitude.

Finally, I made my excuses and headed for the elevators. As I waited, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the notifications I’d been ignoring all day. A missed call from Joanna. A reminder about an upcoming doctor’s appointment. And...nothing from Cooper. Not that I’d really expected anything, but the disappointment stung nonetheless.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and I stepped inside, grateful to be alone. As the doors began to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. A man stepped in, nodding politely as he pressed the button for the parking garage.

Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. He was tall, well-dressed, with a bearing that spoke of confidence and authority. As the elevator descended, I felt a prickle of unease. Something wasn’t right. As I had recently learned—myinstincts were usually correct.

Just as I was about to press the button to open the doors so I could flee, the man turned to me.

“Miss Rousseau,” he said, his accent distinctly Eastern European. “Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Viktor Petrov. I believe we have some business to discuss.”

My heart began to race as recognition dawned. I’d never met him in person, but I’d heard Cooper mention him and remembered Ashlynn’s warning.

Before I could react, I felt a sharp prick in my neck. As darkness began to close in around me, the last thing I saw was Viktor’s cold smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice seeming to come from very far away. “Mr. Moreau and I just need to have a little chat. And you, my dear, are going to help make that happen.”

Then, nothing.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the drugs in my system making time blur. During one lucid moment, I heard voices outside my prison.

“My daughter wasn’t part of our agreement, Viktor.” My father’s voice, cold with barely controlled rage.

“Come now, Laurent. Since when are you squeamish about leverage?”

“There are rules, even in our world. Lines we don’t cross.”

Viktor’s laugh was harsh. “Rules? You shot Cooper Moreau in front of her. Used your own daughter as bait. Don’t pretend to take the moral high groundnow.”

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