Spy (Scaramouche x Reader)

☾ Chapter 8 ☽

thank u guys sm for 200 reads ♡♡♡

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After the meeting with Gunnar, you headed back to your hotel to pack your things. You'd figured it would be best to move in as soon as possible, since you had to make the place look like home in case you needed to prove anything to anyone.

Although you tried to convince yourself you were moving in quickly because if the technical side, it was also partially because you were excited. Being a mercenary, you never got to be around nice places too often. Most of your work was catching criminals in gloomy sections of cities by the sewers or wiping out gangs in run-down bars. You'd never been a spy before, it wasn't part of your job description.

Who knew spies got such nice things, huh?

Living in a neighborhood that housed the most famous and prestiged nobles when all you knew was moving around constantly from shabby hotel to hotel sounded like a dream.

A merc never got to stay in one place; it was too dangerous. There were always enemies to be careful about, especially for you. Being famous in the crime world for being a threat to them might sound appealing, but it really wasn't.

After packing the last of your things, you headed to the car. After a wary look around, you positioned the multiple mirrors in your car to catch every possible blind spot. A merc could never be followed.

Stepping on the gas pedal, you drove through many twists and turns, places you'd never been to. The whole drive, you were filled with a sense of strange determination. You had never failed a job; you had confidence you could take the Balladeer down and bring him to justice for his crimes.

Before you knew it, you were driving through tall golden gates with ornate letters that read, "Celeste Nobilis."

You could feel the change in atmosphere as soon as you entered. Although it was well past midnight, birds flew through the sky, fluttering trees as they landed. The air seemed to clear up, but perhaps that was just your mind playing tricks on you.

Moonlight shone from above, illuminating the entire neighborhood with a pale white glow. The gold glistened under the light, somehow making it appear even more beautiful. Exotic arrangements of flowers in fresh soil and fountains lined the grass on either side of the road, almost creating a fairytale-like effect.

Though the neighborhood was gorgeous enough, the houses were what caught your attention large enough to be called palaces.

Finally, twelve Cordelia Avenue loomed above you as you walked toward its front.

Massive, elaborately carved wooden doors, flanked by towering marble columns, served as the main entrances. These doors were inlaid with delicate gold patterns, and above them a circular glass window with ornate colors and patterns. Well taken-care-of gardens with vibrant flowerbeds and topiaries adorn the front, leading to a cobblestone path that leads to a marble fountain centerpiece. Tall, arched windows with intricate glass designs reflect the light of elaborate lanterns, casting a warm, inviting glow over the entire estate.

Damn.

You could've stood there for an eternity, pondering how surreal the situation in front of you was, but you couldn't let anyone see you.

Better get inside before they think I'm a burglar, or something.

Twisting the key into the knob, you pushed open the mahogany doors and entered the house. You only allowed yourself to appreciate the grandeur of the interior after you closed the door, eyes scanning every part of the home.

It was breathtaking, to say the least.

As you step into the foyer, your were are immediately drawn to the gleaming marble floors, decorated with gold accents. A sweeping staircase with a carved mahogany banister curves to the upper levels, its steps lined with a plush, deep crimson carpet. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, their light casting a soft glow over the polished surfaces and colored tapestries that adorn the walls.

The living room, to the left of the foyer, has high ceilings painted with scenes from classical mythology, framed by crown molding. Lavish silk curtains frame tall, arched windows, which flood the room with moonlight. A massive fireplace, its mantle intricately carved with floral patterns, serves as the room's centerpiece.

Down a corridor lined with paintings in gilded frames, you find the dining hall, where a table that can seat thirty gleams under the light of another grand chandelier. The walls were paneled with dark oak, and a series of French doors open onto a terrace with a view of the landscaped gardens.

Every detail, from the fur rugs to the delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers, screamed money.

Well, shit.

No wonder the neighborhood they call "Celeste" was so famed. As much as you wanted to stand there and admire the artistry of the house, you had something you needed to do.

Gunnar had told you that as soon as you got to the residence safely with no complications, to draw a square on a piece of paper and put it in the mailbox for the house. It was "protocol," he had said, he needed to make sure everything went smoothly.

You quickly scribbled a square on some scrap old document from your bag and made your way to the door. At least, you tried.

...Where's the main entrance, again?

It hadn't even been ten minutes and you were already lost. Perks of an unnecessarily large house.

You wandered aimlessly through all the rooms that looked practically the same, but you just felt like you were digging yourself into an even deeper hole.

"Damn, who is using all these rooms?" you mutter exasperatedly, making your way through several rooms that appeared to serve absolutely no purpose other than to look pretty.

Eventually, you found the door, its wooden framework looming over you.

"Thank heavens!" You say, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you unlock the door carefully and push it open, getting a breath of fresh air.

You make a beeline for the mailbox, hearing your boots crunch through the fallen leaves on the path. Quietly opening the latch so that it didn't squeak, you pushed the folded up piece of paper with the square on it inside, making sure to close the latch securely so it didn't fall out.

Just as you were about to turn and make your way back into the house, you heard shuffling movement behind you.

You immediately whip your head around to the source of the noise and see a familiar figure standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, hands in pockets.

"(Y/N)?"