Callum's lips twitched slightly, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The catch is just do what I say and just do the job well without being stubborn.”I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms as I studied him. “That’s it?”“Yes,” he said simply. “Take the time off, be with Ryan, and when you come back, you do your job without pushing back on every damn thing I tell you to do.”I huffed, turning my attention back to Ryan, who was finally resting peacefully. The anger that had flared earlier still simmered inside me, but exhaustion dulled its edges. Maybe Callum was right. Maybe I did need this time off. But I hated that he had taken control of the situation without my input.Ryan stirred slightly, his fingers twitching against my hand. His face was still pale, but the tension in his expression had eased. I exhaled slowly, brushing his hair back before looking at Callum again. “Fine.”A flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant. “Good.”The room fell into a t
I walked out of the hospital room, my breath catching as the weight of my mother’s words pressed on me. Ryan is more important than your pride, Athena.I knew that. I’d always known. But knowing didn’t make accepting it easier.The cold air outside stung my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth I left behind in Ryan’s room. I wrapped my arms around myself, vision blurring as tears spilled over. I hated this. Hated how Callum still had the power to shake me, to make me question everything I had rebuilt.“Athena?”I startled, quickly wiping my tears as Lia approached. Her brows knitted in concern, hands tucked into her coat pockets.“Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”I forced a smile. “Yeah. Just... fresh air.”Lia gave me a look that said she didn’t buy it. “Athena, you’re a terrible liar.”I let out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping. “It’s just... a lot.”She nodded, tilting her head toward the small café across the street. “Come on. Let’s get coffee. You look like you could use it.”
I placed the bags on the small hospital table, my hands unsteady as I unpacked the contents. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the room—warm soup, soft bread, and a variety of dishes carefully packaged. It wasn’t just any meal. It was thoughtful. Comforting. Exactly the kind of food someone would send if they knew we hadn’t eaten properly all day.I hated how that realization made my chest tighten.My mother sat beside Ryan’s bed, watching me carefully. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air.I sighed, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. “Do you want some?”She hesitated before nodding. “You should eat too, Athena.”I wasn’t sure I had much of an appetite, but I pulled out a container of soup. As I lifted a spoonful to my lips, the warmth spread through me, comforting in a way I hadn’t expected.We ate in silence, the only sounds the occasional beeping of the monitors and the hum of the hospital outside. Ryan remained asleep, his
CALLUM’S POVI never expected Athena to forgive me.Not after what I did.I once imagined a future with her—warmth, love, unshakable promises. I gave her a ring, a vow, a dream of something lasting. But I destroyed it.One day, I was hers. The next, I walked away.For Emilia.For a woman with weeks left to live.For a promise rooted in duty, not love.I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to stay present, but the past had its claws deep in me. Ryan’s steady breathing filled the silence, yet all I heard was my own regrets. The way I tore Athena’s world apart for something I thought was bigger than us.Emilia was dying. Fragile. Terrified of facing the end alone. She pleaded with me, begged me to stay. And then there was Richard Rhodes—her father, a man who shaped futures. Marrying into the Rhodes family meant securing a position of power few could dream of.I told myself it was right. That Emilia deserved to spend her last days without fear, that I couldn’t abandon her.But that was a lie.
CALLUM’S POV 2I arrived at Rhodes Enterprises exactly one hour later, my suit pressed, expression neutral. The weight of Richard’s expectations sat heavy on my shoulders, but I refused to show any cracks.As I stepped into the boardroom, a dozen pairs of eyes flicked toward me—some wary, some calculating, all waiting for me to falter. Richard sat at the head of the table, his gaze impassive.“Callum,” he said smoothly, motioning for me to take my seat. “Let’s begin.”I forced a nod, suppressing the lingering headache from last night’s whiskey. This was my battlefield now. To survive, I had to play the game.The meeting was brutal. The board questioned everything—my competence, leadership, and ability to carry the Rhodes name forward. Richard stayed silent, letting them tear into me like vultures. I answered each challenge with precision, refusing to be rattled.By the time the meeting ended, I’d made one thing clear: I wasn’t just Emilia’s grieving husband. I was the man who would le
ATHENA'S POVDays passed, and Callum remained the same—dominant, assertive, always in control. I did everything to fulfill my role as his secretary, ensuring his schedule ran smoothly. Yet, despite my efforts to keep things professional, he continued his daily lunch invitations, making it impossible to refuse.Today was no different. As soon as the clock struck noon, his deep voice called out from his office."Let's go."It wasn’t a request—it never was.I swallowed hard, grabbed my bag, and followed. The moment I stepped into his sleek black car, silence filled the space, thick with an unspoken tension I couldn’t define.Our lunches weren’t romantic. They were businesslike—discussions about reports, future projects, and his impossible expectations. But no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t ignore the way his gaze lingered sometimes, the way his fingers brushed against mine when he handed me the menu.It was dangerous.Back at the office, the stares were
I clutched the soft handkerchief in my hands, my breath still uneven as I stared at the man before me. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t overpowering—just there, offering a quiet sense of comfort I didn’t realize I needed.He leaned slightly against my desk, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored slacks. “I’m Daniel, by the way,” he said with an easy smile. “Daniel West. New Chief Technology Officer.”My eyes widened slightly. CTO? He was an executive?I quickly straightened myself, wiping the last traces of tears from my face. “Oh. Um—welcome to Rhodes Company.” My voice was still shaky, but at least I could manage words now.“Thanks.” He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Not exactly the best first impression, huh? Finding you crying in your office?”I swallowed, looking away. “I—I don’t usually do this.”“I believe you.” His tone was gentle but certain. “Rough day?”I scoffed, shaking my head. “Something like that.”Daniel nodded as if he understood without needing any expl
I let out a nervous laugh, shaking my head. "He’s just—" I paused, searching for the right word. "Weird. Controlling. Crazy."Daniel hummed thoughtfully. "Or maybe," he said slowly, "he actually likes you."I turned to him, my mouth opening to protest, but then—"Oh."That single word from Daniel sent a strange chill down my spine."What?" I asked hesitantly.Daniel glanced at me, then smirked. "So… the CEO is my rival, huh?"I blinked. "What are you talking about?"His smirk deepened, but his gaze held sincerity. "I like you too."My heart stuttered."What?" I whispered.Daniel nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. "I was planning to take my time… get to know you before saying anything." He let out a breathless chuckle."But seeing how he looks at you, how he reacts when you’re with someone else—I don’t think I have time."I was speechless.He liked me?My brain was already struggling to deal with Callum’s overwhelming presence, and now Daniel was confessing his
The corridors beneath Reykjavik were colder than death. The walls hummed faintly with latent energy — the kind that made your skin crawl, like the building itself remembered violence.We’d split into two groups. Julian and Will were planting the disruptor arrays across the upper levels. Sage was syncing the transport failsafe. I stayed with Callum.He was quiet beside me, moving slowly but steady, hand trailing lightly against the steel walls like he needed to touch something real. The tremors in his body had lessened, but I could still see the fatigue in his eyes.“Pain okay?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the rifle slung across my shoulder.He gave me a faint smile. “Manageable. I’ve had worse.”That much was true — but it wasn’t his body I worried about. It was what they had done to his mind. What they had put inside him.We reached a chamber lit only by our headlamps. The walls narrowed here, funnelling down into the main vault. The Eidolon core was just beyond.Callum paused at t
The chopper thumped across the burning skyline like a bleeding heartbeat, rhythmic and urgent. I sat beside Callum, cradling him against my side, his blood soaking through my sleeves. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, and every time his eyes fluttered open, I reminded him, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”Julian sat across from us, checking a battered tablet that had somehow survived the inferno. The glow on his face was pale and grim.“We didn’t get it all,” he muttered. “Their central servers were offline before we reached the lab. Everything in Callum’s head may be the last uncorrupted copy.”Will glanced over his shoulder from the cockpit, voice tense. “And now they know that. Which means we’ve got a target painted on our backs the size of a continent.”I turned my head, looking back at the black column of smoke curling into the sky. Calidus wouldn’t mourn the loss. They didn’t grieve — they adapted. A fallen lab was just another lesson. A reminder to harden the next one.B
He looked at me like a dying man trying to remember sunlight.The flickering fluorescent light above cast shadows across his face, deepening the hollow beneath his cheekbones, making the bruises bloom darker on his skin. I reached out, but he flinched.“Callum,” I said again, gentler this time. “I know what they’ve done. I see it. But they don’t get to keep you.”He swallowed, and the sound felt deafening in the silence. “You don’t know what I’ve given them, Athena. What I had to give.”Julian appeared behind me, scanning the room with his weapon drawn, tense and ready. “We need to move. This place won’t stay quiet for long.”I looked back at Callum, still shackled to the cot. “We can’t leave him like this.”“There’s no time,” Will’s voice crackled through my comm. “Guards converging. Eastern hallway. You’ve got five minutes, max.”I turned to Julian. “Cut him loose.”Julian hesitated only a second before crossing the room. “He’ll slow us down.”“Then we’ll move slower,” I snapped.Ca
And he was trying to reach me.“I thought he died,” Will said, hands trembling as he decrypted the next packet.“He was supposed to,” I whispered. “He wanted us to believe it.”Julian joined us ten minutes later, still bruised but sharper than ever. He scanned the metadata twice before nodding.“This wasn’t sent from the convoy,” he said. “It came from inside the Calidus fallback grid. Probably rerouted through a relay station using a clean identity.”“So he’s behind enemy lines,” I said.“Or being kept alive by someone with an interest in not killing him.”“Leverage,” Will said. “Or… bait.”The thought made my stomach clench.“Either way,” Julian added, “he sent this for a reason. He’s telling you he made it. That he’s waiting.”I looked at the screen again.Echo. Down. Survived.Not help. Not run. Not goodbye.Just three words.A signal in the dark.We flew to Montenegro the next day.Julian tracked the signal’s bounce path to a portside comms hub buried in a crumbling Cold War-era
Three days had passed since Will told me Callum was dead.Three days since the convoy firestorm — since the smoke, the silence, and the sound of nothing on the other end of the line. We buried his name in an encrypted memorial on the darknet, posted beneath a single phrase: Some ghosts burn brighter than the living.The world kept moving.The children were safe — scattered across hidden sanctuaries with new identities and guardians who still believed in justice. Nora-3 was adapting faster than we thought possible. Her neural scans had begun to normalize, as if freedom was rewriting her brain.But me?I was static.Functioning. Breathing. Moving.But not feeling.Not really.Until the ping.It came through Will’s system at 2:17 a.m. — a ghost packet embedded in a relay node we’d used back in Prague, long since scrubbed and mothballed.I was the one who saw it.The days were a blur of comms and half-formed plans. Every hour that passed with Callum’s message sitting like a hot ember in m
There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty.The kind that wraps around you after a moment so sharp, so unforgiving, that your brain hasn’t caught up yet. Like the second after a gunshot, or the pause before someone says, “It’s not what you think.”I sat in that silence, staring at the message on Callum’s encrypted tablet.It had lit up when he stepped away to take a call — some logistics check-in with Will. He’d left it open. That alone should’ve been a red flag. Callum never left anything unsecured.But maybe… maybe part of him wanted me to see it.The message was from Lara.Lara: The flight from Riyadh is booked. If we do this, there’s no turning back.Below that, a location ping.Not Novus-related. Not a safehouse.A villa. Remote. Coastal. Private.There was a follow-up message, timestamped an hour earlier.Lara: Are you sure about her? You said she’d never find out.And then — the worst part — the reply.Callum: She’s distracted with the child protocols. Let’s finish this
I didn’t leave Berlin.Not really.I stayed close enough to watch Callum from a distance — to feel the gravity of him without getting pulled back into orbit. He didn’t chase me. That was worse than if he had. Because it meant he knew I wasn’t ready to hear anything that would make this less real, less raw.I stayed in an old Cold War-era substation the resistance had converted into a shelter for journalists and data couriers. The air smelled like copper and engine oil. The beds were steel slabs with thin foam. It was perfect. Unemotional. Unattached.I needed that right now.Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the messages.Not just the words Lara wrote — but the pauses. The silences in between. The way Callum had answered her, and more damning: the way he hadn’t.He hadn’t denied it meant something.He hadn’t told her to stop.He hadn’t told me the truth.I’d trusted him with my life. With my mind. With my body. And in the end, it was something so simple — a lie by omission — that
Berlin had gone quiet.After the virus launched, there was a lull — not peace, exactly, but the kind of stillness that follows a tectonic shift. Protestors were still in the streets, headlines still spun, and Novus Shield’s remnants were scrambling to erase their fingerprints. But for us, it was waiting time.Will was off-grid chasing down a suspected mole. Elena was silent again — not unusual, but it gnawed at me all the same. And Callum…Callum was perfect.Too perfect.He brewed my coffee exactly the way I liked it. He woke up before me, padded around barefoot, bare-chested, humming some song I didn’t recognize. He kissed me like we had all the time in the world. And when I had nightmares — and I still did — he held me until they stopped mattering.That’s what made it worse.The message came in through an old comms relay we hadn’t used since Prague — a secure terminal we’d buried beneath three encryption layers and a rotating cipher. It shouldn’t have been active.I found it by acc
We lay low in Prague.After the Horizon Gaze breach, the world felt thinner — like the distance between reality and illusion had collapsed. Will’s virus was still compiling, Elena had vanished into the underweb to work her channels, and the drive we stole was secured in a modified Faraday crate beneath three feet of reinforced concrete.The fight wasn’t over — it never really was — but for the first time in months, we had a moment to breathe.And it was in that breath that something broke open.It started simple.Callum and I shared a small flat above a shuttered jazz bar, the kind of place that smelled like old wood and rain. The windows overlooked a narrow cobbled street, always damp and glowing with soft amber lights from a broken lantern across the way.We didn’t speak much those first two days. We didn’t need to. Silence had become our currency — quiet glances, shared coffee, his steady presence beside me as I sifted through surveillance dumps and predictive scripts.But the sile