Chapter Twenty-The mission

Niche Group Of Companies

At precisely twelve o'clock, the serenity of the main entrance was shattered by the snarling, high-performance engine of an Italian supercar. Like always, Anna Jager made a rather dramatic entrance, parking her customized Lamborghini Aventador diagonally across two reserved spaces, not paying attention to the valet staff scrambling to intervene.

The Niche Group of Companies headquarters was a towering edifice of polished chrome and tinted glass, a monument to Khaid Jager's public legitimacy. A tight circle of security guards and junior associates near the main lobby entrance dissolved into hushed conversational admiration. Some were even drooling at some point.

“Did you see that paint job? Crimson. Only Anna Jager would wear a suit the same color as a six-hundred thousand dollar car. She's unreal.”

“Unreal is right. That swagger? She doesn't walk, she glides. And look at the way she treats the valet. Absolute zero patience. That's power.”

“She’s the only reason I clock in on Thursdays. She's terrifying, but she's the real boss. Khaid might run the numbers, but she runs the streets.”

“I wish I had her confidence. She just ruined that poor valet's day and didn't even blink. Total queen.”

Anna smiled darkly, knowing the effect she has on these people by her occasional visit. Unperturbed by the commotion she caused, Anna retrieved her purse and strode toward the elevator bay. She ignored the frantic gestures of the head of security. Stepping into the private, express elevator reserved for the Jager family she rode to the First Floor. The moment the elevator doors parted, she stepped out onto a plush, silent carpet. She started walking towards her brother's office, the only door on the floor, its dark mahogany contrasting starkly with the white-and-steel aesthetic of the corridor.

When she reached the office, the elegant, young secretary immediately rose. “Good day, Ms. Anna. The Boss is currently not in his office.”

Anna raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Where is he, then?”

“He is in the Manufacturing Room, ma'am. Working on a new robotics prototype” The secretary's tone was apologetic. Khaid's dedication to his technology was legendary.

Anna nodded in understanding. Her brother never stopped building, whether it was an empire, a fortress, or a machine designed for war or domestic affairs. She left the secretary's side and walked through the door into her brother's office. She settled comfortably onto a modern, ergonomic sofa to wait, crossing her long legs with an audible rustle of silk. Then she rose and walked towards the floor to ceiling window. She traced her hands over the sparkling transparent glass and peeped at the people outside.

Ten minutes later, the door to the inner corridor hissed open, and Khaid walked in. He was wearing a fresh, tailored suit, showing no trace of the sweat or exhaustion from his robotics works. His expression was sharp, serious, and focused.

Anna immediately turned slowly, performing a brief, elegant curtsy, an archaic gesture of respect that acknowledged his rank as the undisputed head of the Jager Clan. “It's a tragedy to keep the princess of the Jager Clan waiting” She intoned sarcastically.

“The supposed princess of the Jager Clan should learn to keep to schedule” Khaid responded in the same sarcastic energy.

“Khaid”

“Anna” Khaid acknowledged with a simple, firm nod, walking past her to his immense, glass-topped desk.

He sat, settling into his chair, and fixed his gaze on his sister. The informal pleasantries were over. They exchanged a subtle, coded nod, non-verbal signal that moved them from public acknowledgment and siblings banter to private business

.

Without preamble, Khaid reached beneath the marble edge of his desk and pressed a hidden button. Immediately, the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window, which offered a magnificent view of the city, instantly darkened to opaque black, eliminating any visual surveillance from the outside.

The massive mahogany door clicked shut with a solid, final sound, the mechanical locking system engaging automatically.

A faint, barely audible hum permeated the room as the silence icon activated. The sophisticated sound-dampening technology now ensured that anything said within the four walls of the office could not be heard by even a person standing immediately outside the door.

Khaid leaned back in his chair, the room now a secure, velvet-lined vault.

“We have a problem, Anna” he began, his voice dropping to a low, tactical murmur.

“The fact that you started with ‘we have a problem’ means that there's no actual problem” She started to rub the rings on her knuckles. “Who is that girl?”

Khaid raised his brow in confusion. “What girl?”

“Oh please! brother. The girl living with you of course. She's not one of the maids because she's not living in the maid quarters nor is she wearing the maid's uniform”

“You seem to know more about my house than I do, Anna”

“Well. .” She drawled and squinted mischievously. “My brother once said ‘it is your house too’ So, am I not supposed to know the people that come in and go out of my house?”

“With your abandoned room that I'm about to turn into a parrot nest? When was the last time you made a proper visit?” Khaid slammed.

“Well, I've been a bit busy” She shrugged. “Still, Kael told me there's a new girl who is not a maid nor a guard nor a cook. She's just there”

“Remind me to scrape off Kael's mouth by closing of business” Khaid scoffed. “To answer your question, Jager princess ma'am, she's nobody. Mind your business”

“Sure” She rolled her eyes discreetly.

“Back to business. There's a mission tonight.” Khaid spoke in his usual stern and serious voice.

Anna took the cue and focused likewise as she listened attentively.

“It's going to be three of us? That's much? I can handle this alone” Anna drummed silently on the table.

“Kael, me and you. I have a feeling that SPT will try to play smart. He has always been acting like a neutral one in the jungle. This time, I feel like I can see through his facade”

Anna burst into a devilish laughter that echoed in the room. “Specter knows better than to try anything funny with us. We are not the Jager’s for nothing!”

Khaid nodded and looked at her. She returned his gaze too. “The details will be sent to you”

“Always active, boss”

★

West Wing. . .10PM

It was 10:00 PM in the West Wing. The silence in Bluey's apartment was suffocating and thick with the lingering tension of her idle hands and raging mind. She was tucked into the luxurious silk sheets of her bed but her eyes were as shining as the galaxy. Sleep was a distant, mocking promise. Her mind was a relentless projector, constantly conjuring scenarios of herself– She should be in The Void Club now.

She visualized the music. The deep, bass thrumming against her diaphragm coupled with the heady mix of expensive cologne, spilled liquor, and the sweet, herbal aroma of her own product. Not to talk of the subtle wink, the whispered promise of pleasure, the satisfying clink of money in her purse.

“Arrrggghhh” She screamed into her pillow. The isolation was physically painful. She tossed and turned, the soft sheets feeling like a restrictive net. Her body was used to operating at night, energized by the energy of the crowd. Being confined in this sterile, quiet cage felt like a cruel form of withdrawal.

She sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I will never stop going to that club” she had told Khaid. Now, without the club, her anxiety was mounting, threatening to spiral into another panic attack. The herbs she brewed for him had not been effective on her own restless system. What a shame!

Bluey stood up. The need to move, to challenge the boundaries of her captivity, was overwhelming. She pulled on a thick, comfortable cotton robe and walked to the door of her apartment. She needed to leave her room before she turned to a psychotic mess.

The West Wing was supposed to be the most secure area next to Khaid's own suite. But Bluey, the chemist who specialized in intricate, microscopic reactions, was also a master of pattern recognition. During her short time there, she had observed the subtle pulse rates of the internal motion detectors and the minute calibration delays of the magnetic locks.

She pressed her hand against the electronic keypad, not inputting a code, but merely mapping the latent heat signature of the device. She waited for the millisecond gap in the surveillance sweep which is a vulnerability introduced by the system's reliance on digital checks rather than constant physical patrols. Then click, the lock engaged and disengaged so smoothly, it made no sound. The alarm remained silent. She stepped out into the Central Wing corridor, breathing a shallow sigh of victory. It was a petty defiance, but it was hers.

She walked purposefully toward the Central Sitting Room. A massive, underutilized space that felt miles away from the intense energy of Khaid's command center and training room. The sitting room was a cavern of muted sophistication with low, Italian leather sofas, dark wood paneling, and a floor-to-ceiling aquarium housing slow-moving, exotic fish. It was cold, impersonal, and deeply silent.

Satera curled up on one of the immense, plush couches. She wasn't seeking comfort, she was seeking space, somewhere that didn't hold the claustrophobic dread of her bedroom, somewhere that felt less like a cage and more like a neutral, public transit station and somewhere that wouldn’t make her think of a million things in a million-second.

She pulled the edge of the throw blanket over her shoulders, watching the slow, mesmerizing drift of the fish in the aquarium. The predictable, quiet movement of the aquatic life was soothing, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos that defined the rest of the house and her own inner life.

The combination of the physical exertion, the relief of having circumvented Khaid’s security, and the monotonous silence of the room finally worked on her weary system. Her tension slowly drained away. Minutes later, the woman who could not sleep in her own bed, who could not exist without the frenzy of the club, finally drifted to sleep on the couch in the dead center of the Jager fortress. She was an uninvited, silent guest, utterly vulnerable, yet utterly at peace in the heart of enemy territory but at that oblivious moment, she felt at home.