No suspicious vehicles. No loitering individuals. No threats.
I am tracking her sleep cycle through the biometric sensors embedded in her new mattress.
Deep REM sleep. Heart rate steady. Breathing even.
She is resting.
She is warm.
She is provided for.
And I am standing in my command center at four thirty-seven in the morning, feeling an overwhelming sense of domestic contentment that would have been incomprehensible to me six weeks ago.
The cognitive dissonance is staggering.
For centuries, I have been a fortress. Impenetrable. Self-sufficient. Entirely focused on the singular goal of maintaining control over my physical form and my corporate empire.
And now?
Now I am checking the refrigerator inventory in her apartment to ensure she has adequate supplies of that absurdly expensive organic orange juice she pretends not to care about.
It is irrational.
It is inefficient.
It is also non-negotiable.
She is mine.
And I will ensure she never experiences the cold, desperate fear of financial insecurity again.
I close the biometric feed and return my attention to the primary security displays. The quarterly audit reports are due in six hours. I need to review the—
"Sir."
The voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
I do not turn.
I do not need to.
I know that voice.
Kael Thorne. My lead intelligence operative. Former military. Current head of corporate espionage countermeasures. Hyper-competent. Ruthlessly efficient. And currently standingin the doorway of my command center at four thirty-eight in the morning, which means something has gone catastrophically wrong.
"Report," I say, my tone flat.
Kael crosses the room in three long strides. He is tall—not as tall as me, but tall enough to be imposing. His dark suit is immaculate despite the early hour. His expression is carefully neutral.
Which means the situation is worse than I thought.
He stops beside the central console and pulls a slim data tablet from his jacket. With a quick gesture, he syncs it to the holographic interface.
A cascade of files materializes in front of me.
Financial records. Corporate transaction logs. Encrypted communication threads.
And at the center of it all: a name.
