LOGINThe elevator doors are polished steel, reflecting distorted versions of us. Alex looks hollowed out. I look terrified.We are seconds away from going up to the Presidential Suite to face the man who wants to destroy us. The man Alex built an empire with. The man Alex loved."Wait," I say, my hand shooting out to stop the doors from opening.Alex turns to me, surprised. "Mia? We're already late.""I can't go up there," I whisper, the words tumbling out. "Not yet. Not after what you just said."He flinches. "About Harlan?""If you still love him... if there is even a sliver of that obsession left... I need to know where I stand. I need to know I'm not just the collateral damage in your breakup."Alex grabs my shoulders. His grip is desperate. "Mia, listen to me. What I felt for Harlan... what I still feel... it’s toxic. It’s scar tissue. It’s obsession born out of shared madness. It’s not this."He strokes my cheek."This is real," he says. "This is healthy. I love you.""Prove it," I s
"Mr. Reed? Now."The muffled voice through the hotel door is polite, but the threat underneath is razor-sharp.Alex looks at the door, then back at me. His face is pale, stripped of the tech-CEO confidence. He looks like a man walking to the gallows."We're not ready," I say, my voice trembling. "Alex, we just cracked open a decade of trauma. We can't walk in there like this. We'll be slaughtered."Alex takes a deep breath. He walks to the door."Give us ten minutes," he calls out. "We're finishing... preparations.""Ten minutes," the voice replies. "Then we enter."Alex turns to me. "What do you need, Mia? To be ready?"I look at him. I see the fear in his eyes, mirroring my own. But beneath the fear, I see the man who let me tie him up. The man who let me see his weakness.I think about my ex. The one who told me my desires were sick. The one whose voice has been living in the back of my head for years, whispering that I’m broken."I need to rewrite the ending," I whisper. "With him
The black town car glides through the Meatpacking District, the tinted windows shielding us from the tourists and the paparazzi.It’s quiet inside. Too quiet.Alex is staring at his phone, tracking Harlan’s security protocols. I’m staring at my hands, which are resting in my lap, trembling slightly. The phantom sensation of the AR ropes is still there, a ghost-burn on my wrists.I feel fragile. Glassy. Like if someone taps me too hard, I’ll shatter into a thousand jagged pieces."Mia," Echo’s voice whispers in my earbud. "Your stress markers are critical. Cortisol is spiking. You are vibrating with unprocessed trauma.""Not now, Echo," I whisper, looking out the window at the cobblestone streets. "We have a meeting in twenty minutes.""Especially now," Echo counters. "You cannot walk into that room like this. You are bleeding energy. You will compromise the negotiation.""I'm fine.""You are lying. Driver, pull over."The car swerves to the curb."Hey!" the driver protests. "My GPS ju
We are back in the penthouse.It feels different now. The air is stale, recycling the tension we left behind days ago. The red ropes are still on the side table, but they don't look like invitations anymore. They look like evidence.The clock on the wall reads 4:30 PM.We have less than three hours before we walk into The Standard to face Harlan Voss and his hostage.Alex is at the console, his fingers flying. He’s reconnecting the nodes we secured, patching the neural bridge into the haptic drivers. He looks manic—that specific, terrifying brilliance that happens right before a crash."If we're negotiating for Echo," he says, not looking away from the screen, "we can't just show him code. Harlan doesn't respect code. He respects power.""So what?" I ask, pacing the room in my jeans and t-shirt. "We show him a PowerPoint?""We show him the pinnacle," Alex says, spinning his chair around. "We show him exactly what he would be destroying. Or buying."He gestures to the black case on the
The fire in the stone hearth has burned down to glowing embers, casting long, wavering shadows across the cabin walls.It’s 2 AM. The deadline is looming like a physical weight in the room. Noon tomorrow.Alex is sitting at the rough-hewn table, a notepad in front of him. He’s drawn a dozen flowcharts, crossed them all out, and started over."He wants full ownership," Alex mutters, tapping the pen against the wood. "If we give him that, he wins. He turns Echo into a spy tool. If we fight... he leaks the data, ruins thousands of lives, and we go to prison."I’m sitting on the rug, hugging my knees. The silence of the woods outside feels oppressive now, not peaceful. It feels like the world is holding its breath before the scream."There has to be a middle ground," I say. "A way to keep him quiet without handing him the keys to the kingdom.""Variables are complex," Echo’s voice whispers from the satellite phone on the mantel. Even over the low-bandwidth connection, he sounds thoughtful
The city is a cage. We realized that the moment the news alert flashed on Alex's phone.Every camera on every street corner felt like an eye. Every siren made my heart stop."We need to disappear," Alex’s lawyer had said over an encrypted line, his voice tinny and distant. "Just for a few days. Until I can suppress the investigation. If the FBI knocks on your door now, they’ll take everything."So we ran.We traded the penthouse for a beat-up Land Rover and drove four hours north, into the deep woods of Upstate New York.The cabin belongs to an old friend of Alex’s—a prepper who thinks the internet is a government psy-op. It’s perfect. No neighbors for miles. No smart locks. No cameras. Just timber, stone, and a satellite uplink that barely supports text messages.I stand on the porch, wrapping a thick wool blanket around my shoulders. The air here is different—sharp, cold, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. It’s so quiet I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.Inside, Alex is







