The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 262

Vivian

The Meridian Hotel at midnight feels like a mausoleum. Our footsteps echo too loudly in the marble lobby despite our efforts to move quietly. The overnight desk clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and coffee-stained fingers, barely glances up from her crossword puzzle as we approach. Perfect—exactly the kind of inattentive service we need.

"We'd like to check in," Dmitri says, sliding a pair of fake IDs across the polished counter. His casual tone masks the tension I can feel radiating from him.

The clerk yawns as she types our false names into the system. "Twin beds or king?"

"Separate rooms, actually," I interject smoothly. "We're... colleagues. This is a business trip."

She nods without interest, clearly too exhausted to care about our story. Within minutes, she's handed us key cards and rattled off the standard hotel amenities speech. As she finishes, Dmitri gives me the signal we'd rehearsed.

"Actually," he says, turning back to the clerk with his most charming smile, "I'm a bit of a security consultant. Would it be possible to take a quick look at your surveillance setup? I'm always interested in how different establishments handle guest safety."

The woman looks momentarily confused. "I'm not sure if—"

"Nothing invasive," Dmitri continues, pulling out a business card that looks impressively official. "Just a brief walkthrough of your monitoring station. I might even be able to recommend some improvements. Professional courtesy."

I watch him work his magic, knowing that his combination of authority and flattery rarely fails. Sure enough, the clerk's resistance crumbles.

"I suppose a quick look wouldn't hurt," she says, standing up from behind the counter. "Follow me."

The moment they disappear down a corridor marked 'Staff Only,' I slip behind the reception desk. My heart pounds as I access the computer system, fingers flying across the keyboard. The login screen presents itself, but the clerk hadn't bothered to log out—amateur hour.

I navigate to the guest registry and type in 'Nemesis,' holding my breath as the system processes the search. Come on, you bastard. You can't hide forever.

The results load, and my excitement quickly turns to frustration. Two rooms. Two fucking rooms.

"Clever fox," I mutter under my breath. "Playing it safe, are we?"

The first listing shows Room 2047: The Presidential Suite on the twentieth floor. Everything about it screams Nikolai Volkov—maximum luxury, maximum security, the kind of accommodation befitting a man of his stature and paranoia. The suite comes with private elevator access, reinforced windows, and according to the notes, had requested additional security sweeps.

The second listing is Room 1307: A standard business suite on the thirteenth floor. Unremarkable, ordinary, the kind of room that wouldn't draw any special attention. But that ordinariness itself makes it suspicious—too perfect for someone trying to hide in plain sight.

I hear footsteps approaching and frantically search through the key card storage behind the desk. My fingers find what I'm looking for just as Dmitri and the clerk round the corner—two additional key cards for the rooms in question.

"Thank you so much for the tour," Dmitri is saying as I slip the cards into my jacket pocket. "Your security protocols are quite impressive."

The clerk beams at the compliment, completely oblivious to what's just transpired. "Always happy to help a fellow professional."

We collect our official room keys and head toward the elevators, maintaining the facade of weary business travelers until the doors close behind us.

"Well?" Dmitri asks the moment we're alone.

I pull out the two additional key cards, holding them up like trophies. "Two rooms. He's covering his bases."

Dmitri examines the cards, his expression growing thoughtful. "Room 2047—the Presidential Suite. And 1307, a business suite." He looks up at me with a slight frown. "That complicates things. By the way, I gathered some useful intelligence during my little tour with the desk clerk."

The elevator climbs steadily, each floor bringing us closer to our target. I feel the familiar pre-action adrenaline starting to build in my veins.

"What did you find out?" I ask, though I can already guess from his satisfied expression that it's good news.

"According to the clerk, they've only had three guests check in over the past two days. The hotel is practically empty." Dmitri's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "More importantly, I convinced her to show me some of the surveillance footage from the main entrance. A single figure matching Nikolai's description entered yesterday evening. No entourage, no visible bodyguards."

"So he's likely operating alone," I muse. "That's either supreme confidence or desperation."

"The question is which room," Dmitri continues. "And whether this is a trap."

Dmitri's smile is grim. "With Nikolai, everything is potentially a trap. But this could also just be his standard paranoia. The man has survived decades in this business by never making himself an easy target."

I hold up both key cards again. "So what's your read? Where do you think he's actually sleeping?"

"The Presidential Suite is the logical choice," Dmitri says after a moment of consideration. "It fits his ego, his status, his security requirements. But it's also the most obvious target, which makes it the perfect decoy."

He pauses, weighing the options with the careful deliberation of someone whose life depends on making the right call.

"The business suite, on the other hand, is perfectly unremarkable. Anonymous. The kind of room where someone could disappear completely. Sometimes the best hiding place is right in the open."

"So we hit both simultaneously," I suggest.

But Dmitri shakes his head. "Too time-consuming. If we go room by room, we give him opportunities to escape or call for backup. Our window of opportunity is narrow—maybe a few hours at most before the situation changes completely. By dawn, he could have reinforcements, or worse, he could simply vanish."

The elevator reaches the thirteenth floor, and we step out into the hushed corridor. "We have to split up," Dmitri continues. "Simultaneous strikes on both locations. It's the only way to ensure he can't slip away."

I nod, understanding the tactical necessity even as my stomach tightens with apprehension. "I'll take the Presidential Suite."

"No." Dmitri's response is immediate and firm. "If he's actually in one of these rooms, odds favor the suite. That's my target."