VERA
_
THE BELLY OF THE BEAST.
We were dancing in the place most dangerous to us, but the one place we needed if we were to be to succeed. It wasn't a question of 'if' anymore, it was a need. Not for me, but for Timothée.
I could see it in his eyes as we slipped through the crowd, passing through the hallway doors and up a staircase to the second floor. Every narrow of his gaze, every twitch of the lip, and every furrow of the brow—he was remembering the place he grew up in.
And it hurt to know the memories that danced inside these walls were tainted with lies and deceit.
"Are you sure you know the way?" Sam said under his breath, turning his head to look behind him, "tu sembles perdu."
Timothée waved his hand at the man. "I'm not lost."
"I wouldn't blame you if you were, it's like a maze in here."
Sam was right by calling it that—the winding hallways and doors were enough to send any sane person reeling for a map. It reeked of wealth as well. The deep, Aegean colored walls were so thickly painted, that I felt scared to trace my fingers against in worry that my hand might slip right through. And the gold—the gorgeous gold—traced along the edges of indents and frames like shimmers of light.
I found fear in its beauty.
This display of wealth did nothing but reassure the fact that we were dealing with real money, real Wills, and real people. It wasn't a silly little game I had entered into. I'd known it before, but I knew it more now.
"His office should be here," Timothée whispered softly, approaching a bend in the hallway, "it used to be my father's workroom."
Before we could turn the corner, the man abruptly stopped, holding out his arm to stop Sam and I from taking another step.
Voices.
The sound was soft, almost inaudible, but somehow he had managed to pick up the conversation of a group of people from down the hall. Their hearty laughs trickled through the air like dust in the wind.
Slowly raising his finger to his lips, we watched as Timothée motioned for us to remain silent, while slipping his necklace off with his other hand. The glass shard was soon balancing against his palm, glinting off the dim lamplight of the hallway. Twisting his wrist, he pressed his back up against the wall, inching the shard towards the edge of the corner.
He was checking the reflection; his brilliant mind.
"J'avais raison," he whispered, his jaw clenched, "two guards."
Sam's face twisted unpleasantly. "That's no good."
"Debatable," Timothée said, "at least it means something important is in that room."
"Like the Will," I nodded.
"Exactement."
As the glass shard was quickly tucked back underneath the fabric of a dress suit, I listened into the hushed exchange that followed between the two men beside me. In order to get into the office, we'd need to remove the guards—without causing havoc, might I add.
It was Sam's turn to shine.
"Exactly why I'm here," he grinned cheekily, "I'll distract them."
Timothée nodded curtly. "Don't cause too big of a scene, Brontté."
YOU ARE READING
Forever, Yours ➹ Timothée Chalamet
Fanfic❛Careful who you trust, Vera❜ ➹ She's a writer in Paris, who may have found someone worth writing about. Just one problem... he's a thief, and he might have just roped her into the biggest robbery of all time. ➹ Timothée Chalamet x fem!(oc) -- [x...
