The penthouse is dark when I land on the balcony, which is how I left it. What I didn’t leave is the woman sitting in my living room, silhouetted against the city lights like she belongs there.
Julia.
“You’re late,” she says without turning around.
Rage spikes through me, hot and immediate. “How did you get in here?”
“I have access to all Global Dynamix properties.” She swivels the chair to face me, her pale eyes catching the ambient light from outside. She’s still in the pastel-colored suit from the gala, her silver-blonde hair immaculate, her expression unreadable. “Including yours.”
“This ismyhome,” I say, my teeth grinding. “Not a Global Dynamix property. I own it.”
“Is there a difference?”
The question grates me. Because no, there isn’t. Not really. I couldn’t have this without them. I bought out the deed, but they still own the security systems, the surveillance, the infrastructure. They still ownme, no matter how many papers I sign or how much money I throw at lawyers.
“You need to leave,” I say flatly.
“I need to talk to you.” She doesn’t move. “About the journalist.”
My jaw tightens. “What about her?”
“You took her off-grid tonight, flew her somewhere outside our surveillance coverage.” Julia’s voice is calm, measured, but I can hear the edge underneath. The accusation. “Care to explain why?”
“You’re not my mother. I don’t answer to you.”
She waves her hand at that dismissively, not slighted in the least. “You answer to Global Dynamix, and as CTO, that means you answer to me.” She rises from the chair, smooth and controlled, and crosses toward me. “Did you see where she went? After your little…excursion?”
“No.” I hold my ground as she approaches, wondering what exactly she knows. They can track me through my watch;they measure my vitals that way too, no different than any other citizen with such a device. Audio surveillance without my knowledge, though, would be a new one.
“You took her away from our surveillance.” Her eyes flash. “A deliberate choice, I assume.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I wanted privacy.”
“For what?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implication. I can smell her perfume, something expensive and cold, giving me a headache. There was a time when Julia’s presence felt comforting. Safe, even. She was the one who found me after Emma died. The one who offered me a chance to become something more than a broken soldier drowning in grief. A chance to make a difference in the world Emma believed in so much.
Now, she just feels like a zookeeper, and I’m the animal in the cage.
“That’s none of your business,” I tell her.
“Everything about you is my business.” She stops inches away, and I fight the urge to back up. “I made you, Nate. Every enhancement, every ability, everycellin your body exists because of my work. You don’t get to have secrets from me.”
“Why are you surveilling her?” I counter. “Mia’s just doing her job. You’re the one who thought this piece would be good for me and the company.”
“Mia’s job is to interview you. That’s it. No intimate slow dancing in front of the president, no whisking her off for alone time. She’s not on your side, and you can’t trust her.” She pauses, those cold eyes flicking over my face. “Do you trust her?”
“I—” I hesitate. Do I trust Mia? I barely know her, truthfully. All I know is the way she looks at me, like she’s seeing something underneath the mask, and it make me want to rip the mask rightoff. I know the way she tastes, the way she sounds when she comes, the way she felt in my arms like she belonged there.
Those things, I know.
“I think so,” I say finally.
“You shouldn’t.” Julia’s voice sharpens. “We’ve done our research on Miss Baxter. Everything about her is exactly what it should be, which means either she’s the most boring journalist on the planet, or she’s very good at hiding who she really is.”
A flash of her face runs through my head—the way she looked at me when I kissed her, that strange fear I wanted to unravel. “What do you mean?”
“I worry she’s not what she claims to be, and I think you’re too compromised to see it clearly.” She reaches up as if to touch my face, and I jerk back instinctively. Her hand drops. “Keep it professional, Nate. Whatever you think is happening between you?—”
