Page 5

The app displays the status: Message Delivered. Awaiting Recipient Response.

I stand from my desk, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I look out over the city, picturing Megan in her modest apartment. Is she sitting on her couch in an oversized sweater? Is she holding her phone with both hands, her breath catching in her throat as she reads my words?

At the twenty-two-minute mark, a soft, muted chime breaks the silence of the study.

I turn, cross the room with measured strides, and pick up my phone.

The Veil interface flashes with a new notification.

Ivy-27 has accepted your invitation.

Below the system confirmation is a single line of text from her:

I accept your terms, Vanguard. I'll be there.

A low exhale escapes me. The tension that's held my shoulders rigid snaps, replaced by a surge of heat that makes my vision sharpen.

I don't reply. Silence will build the anticipation.

I lock my phone and walk into my walk-in closet.

I bypass the rows of bespoke charcoal and navy suits, moving toward the far end where my private luggage and personal effects are kept. From a high shelf, I pull down a sleek, matte-black box.

Inside lies a hand-crafted leather mask—clean-lined, masculine, covering the upper half of my face with sharp, sculpted angles that leave my jaw, mouth, and neck completely bare.

I lift it, feeling the cool, supple texture of the leather against my fingers.

Halloween night. A city full of people wearing costumes, pretending to be someone else for a few hours.

I look at my own reflection in the full-length mirror, my brown eyes fierce and unrelenting in the dim closet light.

I've made a choice that carries real consequences. For Megan. For Kayla. For the professional boundary I've spent fourteen months respecting.

I set the mask on the counter beside my keys, check the calendar on my watch, and begin counting down the days until Friday night.

Chapter Three

MEGAN

The lobby of the Grand Sovereign Hotel is all dark marble, brushed bronze, and muted amber light. Outside, Halloween revelers crowd the sidewalks in costume, but inside the revolving glass doors, the noise vanishes into plush silence.

I grip the strap of my handbag so hard my knuckles turn white.

A dramatic centerpiece anchors the rotunda, matte-black pumpkins, twisted willow branches, midnight calla lilies, and blood-dark roses illuminated by flickering candles. It's gothic, expensive, and entirely separated from the carnival happening outside.

You can still leave, I tell myself. Go home. Grade spelling tests. Pretend you never downloaded the app.

Instead, my boots carry me across the polished floor toward the reception desk.

The clerk doesn't look up until I stop in front of him. He wears an immaculate charcoal suit and an expression of practiced discretion.

"Good evening," I say, my voice thinner than I'd like. I clear my throat. "I have a reservation packet held under code Ivy-27."

He doesn't blink. He taps several keys, opens a locked drawer, and slides a heavy black envelope across the counter.

"Suite 1204, Ms. Ivy," he says smoothly. "The express elevator is to your left. Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you."