“Kira,” I start, not sure what I’m going to say but needing to break the silence stretching between us like a chasm.
“I should go,” she says abruptly, stepping back from my arms. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”
“We’re not done talking.”
“Yes, we are.” Her voice carries a finality that stops my protest before it can form. “At least for tonight.”
She moves toward the exit with purpose, leaving me standing alone on the dance floor with the uncomfortable realization that something fundamental has shifted between us. Whatever new information she’s processing, whatever family matters have been occupying her attention, they’ve convinced her to retreat behind walls I thought we’d already broken down.
I follow her through the crowd, catching up just as she reaches the coat check.
“This isn’t over,” I say quietly, close enough that only she can hear.
“Maybe it should be.” She accepts her wrap from the attendant without looking at me. “Maybe some things are better left unfinished.”
“I don’t believe that. You don’t believe that.”
“Then maybe you’re more optimistic than I am.” She finally meets my eyes, and the sadness I see there hits me like a physical blow. “Or maybe you just haven’t learned yet that some stories don’t have happy endings.”
She leaves me standing in the marble foyer, watching her disappear into the Manhattan night, and for the first time since this arrangement began, I wonder if she might be right.
Because whatever she’s learned, whatever’s causing her to pull away with such deliberate finality, it feels like the beginning of an ending I’m not prepared for.
And the worst part is that I still don’t know if she’s protecting me from the truth or protecting herself from me.
CHAPTER 26
Rafa
I stareat my laptop screen for twenty minutes before finally admitting what I’m about to do.
The surveillance device I planted in Kira’s penthouse sits in my desk drawer like an accusation—a small piece of hardware no bigger than a USB drive, designed by Gio for situations where traditional monitoring isn’t possible. I’d slipped it behind her router during our first night working together, telling myself it was just a precaution. Insurance against the possibility that she might not be who she seemed.
I never intended actually to use it.
But sitting in my apartment at 2 AM, replaying every word of our conversation at the engagement party, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s planning something catastrophic. The way she looked at me like she was memorizing my face. The finality in her voice when she suggested some stories don’t have happy endings.
The careful distance she’s been maintaining ever since our night at the safehouse.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, conscience warring with necessity. This violates everything we’ve built together—whatever trust existed between us, whatever connection we’d forged between obligation and choice.
But if she’s in danger...
I activate the device.
The connection establishes immediately, giving me backdoor access to her home network. Her security is impressive—multiple firewalls, encrypted protocols, layers of protection that would stop most intrusions cold. But during our collaboration, I helped design some of these systems, and I know exactly where the vulnerabilities are.
It takes me forty minutes to work through her defenses without triggering any alarms. When I finally breach her personal system, the guilt hits me like a physical weight.
This is Kira’s private digital space—her emails, files, searches, and thoughts translated into data. Invading it feels like reading her diary or going through her underwear drawer. An intimacy stolen rather than shared.
But I’m already here, already across the line I swore I wouldn’t cross.
I start with her recent browser history, looking for anything to explain her sudden withdrawal. Travel sites, which makes sense given our families’ international operations. Encrypted communication platforms I don’t recognize. Academic papers on game theory and strategic deception.
And then I find something that makes my blood run cold.
A research file titled “Durov_psychological_profile.docx” has been accessed daily for the past week.
