Mag-log inThe red dress felt like a layer of skin I didn’t want. I sat on the edge of the bed, my back straight, knowing the cameras were counting the seconds I spent sitting still. Silas entered the room with a stack of fresh towels. He didn't look at me, but he dropped a small, heavy object into the folds of the duvet.It was a burner phone. Tiny. No screen, just three buttons."One minute," Silas whispered as he fluffed a pillow. "The guard is taking a leak. Roman is on the line. He’s different today, Scarlett. Don't argue with him. Just listen."I pressed the middle button. The speaker hissed."Scarlett," Roman’s voice was a low vibration. It wasn't the voice of the boy who had cried in the hospital. It was cold. It sounded like metal hitting stone."Roman! Are you okay?" I whispered. I kept my face turned away from the lens by the closet."Stop asking that," Roman snapped. "Being okay doesn't matter. Winning matters. I’ve stopped looking for the money Marcus stole. I’m looking at the money
The dressing room smelled like expensive hairspray and sweat. I sat in the chair while two stylists pulled at my hair. Marcus’s new cameras were right above the vanity, watching the back of my neck. Chloe stood by the door, her arms crossed. She looked like she wanted to hit someone."Out," Chloe said. It wasn't a request."We aren't finished with the extensions, Ms. Vance," the lead stylist said."I said out," Chloe snapped. She stepped into the room. She looked twice as big as the stylists. "I have to prep her for the press line. Unless you want to explain to Marcus why his daughter looks like a trembling wreck in front of the cameras, move your feet. Now."The stylists scrambled. They grabbed their combs and bolted. Chloe slammed the door—there was no lock, but she stood right in front of it, blocking the view of the guard in the hall."Look at me," Chloe commanded.I looked up. My eyes were puffy. "I can't do this, Chloe. He took the locks. He’s watching me breathe.""Shut up," Ch
The breakfast table was a desert. Usually, Lydia would be humming or checking her garden magazines, but today she sat like a stone. Her hands were folded over her silk napkin, knuckles white. Marcus sat at the head of the table, his presence filling the room like a thick smoke."Eat your eggs, Scarlett," Marcus said. He didn't look up from his paper. "They’re getting cold. I don't like waste. Neither does the board of directors.""I'm eating," I said. I pushed a piece of yellow yolk around the plate. The texture felt like wet chalk in my mouth."You're not," Lydia whispered. She finally looked at me. Her eyes were red. "Marcus, she looks pale. Maybe she should stay home from the gala tonight. She's just a girl, she needs rest.""She is going," Marcus said. He folded the paper with a sharp snap. The sound made Lydia flinch. He looked at me, his eyes searching my face for a crack. "She’s going because she’s the face of this family. Even if that face is hiding things. Even if she thinks
The room was too quiet. Without the hum of my phone or the buzz of the tablet, the air felt thick, like I was underwater. I sat on the edge of the bed. My fingers kept twitching, reaching for a screen that wasn't there. Marcus had cleaned the room out. No tech. No wires. Just me and the four walls.A soft thud came from the floor near the bathroom door. A small, crumpled piece of paper had been pushed through the gap. I scrambled for it, my knees hitting the hardwood."Don't move fast," Roman’s handwriting said. The ink was smeared. "He’s mirrored the house network. If you breathe too loud, he knows. We have to go dark, Scarlett. No more chips. No more logs."The lock on the main door clicked. Clack-clack. It was the new deadbolt. It sounded like a bone snapping. Silas walked in. He was carrying a silver tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. Behind him, Harris stood in the hallway. He didn't come in, but he kept his hand on his holster, staring at the back of my head."Eat,"
The room was pitch black, except for the tiny blue light on the floor. I was on my stomach, my face pressed against the cold hardwood. I had pulled the laptop from under the mattress—the one Silas had smuggled in days ago. The earbud was still in. It felt like a bug crawling in my ear, buzzing with static."The guards just swapped, Scarlett," Roman’s voice was a sharp whisper. "You have twenty minutes before Harris does the hallway sweep. Open the browser. Type in the IP I gave you. We have to do this tonight because Silas said Marcus is moving the server keys to the vault tomorrow. If we don't get in now, the door stays shut forever.""I'm typing," I whispered. My fingers were slick with sweat. I hit the keys. Tap. Tap. Tap. "It’s asking for a secondary bypass. Roman, it says 'Biometric Required.' It wants a thumbprint.""Shit," Roman growled. I heard something slam on his end. "He locked the gate. He’s using the thumbprint sensor from his phone to bridge the login. He’s being carefu
I was back in my bedroom. The door was locked from the outside. I could hear the guards’ heavy boots scraping against the marble in the hall. My feet were throbbing from the heels, and my waist felt bruised where Jax had gripped me too hard.My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it fast. It wasn't Roman. It was a restricted number."Don't look at the screen if you aren't alone," the Stalker’s voice came through the speaker. It was a woman’s voice this time, or a man’s pitch shifted high. I couldn't tell."I'm alone," I whispered. I looked at the camera in the corner. I had draped a damp towel over the lamp to create a shadow where the lens couldn't see my face. "What do you want?""You think Marcus is the only monster in the room, Scarlett," the voice said. "But he’s just the loudest one. Look at the photo I just sent."I opened the message. It was a picture of a board meeting from two years ago. Marcus was at the head of the table. Around him were five other men and one woman.
Zane’s car smelled like high-end leather and a heavy cologne that was trying too hard to be sophisticated. He drove the way he did everything else—with a bored, reckless arrogance that suggested he owned the asphalt under his tires. We were flying down the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean a blurred
The athletic wing of Northcrest was a glass and steel tomb that smelled like expensive rubber and filtered oxygen. I walked down the hallway, my chest feeling like a zip-tie was being tightened around my lungs with every step.I had exactly forty-five minutes before Zane Miller expected me at the E
The silence of the Malibu mansion was never truly quiet. It was a pressurized, expensive hum—the sound of high-end security systems, climate control, and the distant, rhythmic thud of the Pacific Ocean hitting the cliffs below. It was the sound of a gilded cage keeping the world out, or perhaps, ke
The soundstage felt like a pressure cooker. The crew had gone silent, scurrying into the corners like roaches in the light. Roman didn't let go of my arm immediately. He stood his ground, his body vibrating with a tension that felt like it could shatter the floorboards."There’s someone in here, Ma







