The Devil's Angel

41. Roses and Guns

The night was perfect, almost too perfect. But it was perfect nonetheless.

Cyrille took me out for a date night and I couldn't be happier to let loose and just forget about everything.

Cyrille and I walked hand-in-hand down the streets of Paris, the city lights reflecting off the Seine as the soft hum of street performers filled the air.

His arm was wrapped securely around my waist, pulling me close. I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the gentle squeeze of his fingers around mine. For once, everything felt peaceful, as if we'd escaped the weight of the world-even just for a few hours.

"Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?" Cyrille whispered, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. He was looking at me with that smile-the one that made my heart race every time.

I chuckled softly, leaning into his side. "Only a dozen times. But feel free to say it again. I never get tired of hearing it."

"You're beautiful, mon amour," he repeated, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. His voice was low, possessive, the way it always was when he reminded me I was his. His arm tightened around my waist, his thumb gently rubbing circles on my hip.

It was one of those nights that felt like it could last forever. We had dinner at a quaint little bistro, drank champagne, and even danced under the stars. I'd laughed more than I had in weeks, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the case, the trial, and everything else seemed like distant memories.

"Tonight is perfect," I sighed in relief, taking in the air and romantic atmosphere around us.

"That's because you're in it," He replied and I giggled shyly.

"How about we get some dessert?" Cyrille suggested, his eyes lighting up as we passed by a patisserie.

I grinned, nodding almost too eagerly. "You know me too well."

As we stepped inside, the warm smell of chocolate and vanilla washed over us. Cyrille ordered for us, and we took a seat by the window. We laughed over silly things, from how I'd nearly tripped on my dress earlier, to Cyrille's poor attempt at cooking a few nights ago.

He was so much more relaxed tonight, like the weight of the world had finally lifted off his shoulders.

And for a moment, I let myself believe that everything was going to be okay. That maybe, just maybe, we could have more nights like this.

"So..." I teased, taking a bite of the macaron in front of me. "Were you serious when you said you had trackers on all my stuff?" I shot him a playful look, raising an eyebrow.

Cyrille smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You're still on that? Well, wouldn't you like to know?"

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "You're impossible."

He leaned forward, his gaze locking with mine, his smirk softening into something more tender. "I'm serious about keeping you safe, Evie. Always."

The warmth in his eyes made my heart flutter. He reached across the table, taking my hand and brushing his thumb across my knuckles. I smiled, squeezing his hand back, feeling the familiar surge of affection that always came when he looked at me like that.

Everything was perfect.

However, as we left the patisserie and stepped back into the cool night air, that perfect moment shattered.

The first gunshot echoed through the street like a thunderclap. Bang!

I froze, my heart skipping a beat, my mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Cyrille's body jerked beside me, and suddenly, everything around us erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air, people scattering in every direction.