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Shadows of Silk & Steel: A Billionaire's Secret, A Bodyguar

Shadows of Silk & Steel: A Billionaire's Secret, A Bodyguar

MM Romance
last updateปรับปรุงล่าสุด : 2025-12-19
โดย:  Clareจบแล้ว
ภาษา: English
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คำโปรย

Contemporary

Dark Romance

Third-Person POV

CEO

Hidden Identity

Intelligent

Instant Billionaire

MxM

Betrayal

When billionaire tycoon Anton Rogers discovers that someone in his empire has stolen a prototype capable of rewriting global digital security, he hires Sabatine Stalker, a private investigator who works in the shadows and has an uncertain past. But the more Sabatine digs, the trail of deceit leads squarely into Anton's inner circle — and perhaps to Anton himself. Bound by duty but seduced by desire, the two men are forced to navigate a dangerous landscape of corporate intrigue, deception, and forbidden longing. When a shocking revelation incriminates Sabatine, both must decide to have faith in the other or let their guarded hearts destroy everything they've built. In a universe of silk and steel, only the truth can set them free — at the cost of their lives.

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บทที่ 1

Chapter 1: The Stolen Code

I didn't reply to the message from my girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher. My eyes were locked on the photo.

I knew that car-interior decoration all too well. It was the gift I had given Sienna after her promotion. In the passenger-side glove compartment hung the lucky charm I had personally gotten for her.

I tapped the unfamiliar account's profile and opened its playlist.

The pinned playlist was titled "Belated Love". The description read, "You're the joy I waited for and the only one I'll ever need for the rest of my life."

The playlist was filled with Sienna's favorite post-rock and indie folk songs.

Every single track had a record, showing when they had listened to it together, from 2:00 am to 5:00 am.

Those were the countless nights Sienna used overtime as an excuse not to come home.

A sharp pang of bitterness hit me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

A new message popped up. "Shawn, happy New Year! No matter how far you go, you'll always be the closest person to me."

It was Archie Crosby, the underprivileged young man I had sponsored for four years. I had brought him out of the remote mountains and got him into Sienna's company.

My finger hovered over the reply box. Before I could respond, I received a notification about a new post on social media.

I tapped on it without thinking.

The video was only five seconds long.

Sienna, who was supposed to be stuck at the office for overtime, was standing on the beach.

The wind was howling, and the sparkler in her hand lit up her gentle profile.

In the background, Archie's voice carried a playful tone. "Sienna, make a wish."

Sienna smiled as she blew out the sparks. Her gaze almost melted the camera as she said, "My wish is for every year to be like today, with Archie by my side."

A cold chill ran through me.

With Archie by her side? What about me? Was I just a joke to her?

My gaze drifted, stiff and robotic, back to the photo of the hands clasped inside the car.

I hadn't noticed it before, but now I saw it clearly.

The slender wrist on that hand wore a sports watch. It wasn't expensive, but it looked so familiar.

It was the birthday gift I'd chosen for Archie last month.

I glanced back at the unfamiliar account's ID named "Arienna".

The term was a combination of Archie and Sienna.

So this was it.

The guy I had always treated like a brother had stolen the woman I loved with all my heart.

I suddenly laughed. As I did, my tears splashed onto the screen.

Six months ago, Sienna had complained to me, frowning, "Archie is so clumsy. Can I not take him in?"

I'd comforted her, saying, "He just graduated. Life is a struggle at that age. Be patient with him."

So this was her idea of being patient. From the bed to the floor, she certainly gave him a lot of patience.

I looked at the pot of soup I had spent four hours making for her. It was now covered in a layer of greasy film.

It looked just like us—warm and tender on the surface, but underneath, it was nothing but greasy rot.

I stood, grabbed the pot, and poured everything into the trash.
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Chapter 1: The Stolen Code
The quiet in Anton Rogers's office was a facade.It was a bought, expensive silence, paid for and kept in the triple-glazed, hermetically sealed glass walls that excluded the roar of London. Forty-eight floors below, the city was a sea of lights and movement, an omnipresent, pulsing engine of commerce and chaos. But up here, at the top of the Rogers Industries skyscraper, there was just the breath of climate-controlled air and the massive, suffocating lull of a catastrophe.Anton stood before his enormous, obsidian surface main monitor. It was blank. Not the gentle grey of sleep mode, but a big, empty black. And nothing. On the shining chrome of his desk, mirrored in the black screen, lay one, tangible object: a neural interface headset, narrow and silver, its fine filaments like a discarded spiderweb. The physical key to the vanished thing.The Aegis Prototype.His life's accomplishment. Five years of obsessive days and all-nighters, billions of capital and the collective smarts of h
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Chapter 2: The Invisible Investigator
Rain lashed London with relentless, muffled purpose. It was not a storm but a seeping wetness that penetrated the brick and the spirit. In a poorly lit café in Vauxhall, a refuge from the grey afternoon given by steam-wet windows and the muted hum of conversation, Sabatine Stalker watched the drops carve channels on the glass. Each one was a variable, a tiny piece of data tied by the rigid laws of physics and gravity, in collision course or in fusion. He had a strange comfort with that determinism. It was a clean system. People were not.The device in his hand was a machined block of flat black plastic, cold to the touch. On its face, a consciously curated stream of news clips and corporate portraits played silently in mirror-like loops. Anton Rogers. The name was ubiquitous in the worlds of finance and technology, prefaced by adjectives like "visionary," "reclusive," and "ruthless." Sabatine scrolled through the photos: Rogers cutting the ribbon on a new silicon factory in Seoul, his
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Chapter 3: A Deal of Distrust
Something in the atmosphere in Anton's office today was different. It wasn't that precise, sanitized quiet; it was charged, the way the air is just before a lightning strike. He had set the ambiance to the same level of detail he applied to a circuit board. The lighting was fine-tuned to a cold, analytical sheen, driving warm shadows away. The massive glass desk separated the area between him and the empty chair, a shining chrome moat. He was within his fortress, and he was about to admit a potential saboteur.He looked at the clock on the Patek Philippe timepiece his father had given him at graduation. 10:00 a.m. sharp. The elevator would be arriving now. He had instructed Eleanor to bring the man directly up, bypassing the public levels, keeping him away from the corporate milieu as much as possible. This was a quarantine procedure.When the door hissed shut, Anton did not stand. It was a show of power, a reminder quietly made of hierarchy. Eleanor stepped forward, her posture stiff
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Chapter 4: Glass and Secrets
The room Anton had provided was a vault inside a vault. Positioned behind a biometrically locked door off his main office, it was a windowless ten-by-ten cube. Painted a monotone, brain-deadening grey, the walls held no decorations apart from a solid metal desk, a single ergonomic chair, and the terminal.The terminal was the center of attention. It was a black, streamlined monolith, encapsulated in a casing that had no ports whatsoever outside—no USB, no ethernet, not even a headphone jack. It was connected to the Rogers Industries network via a single, highly shielded fiber-optic cable that vanished into the ceiling. This was Anton's concept of "limited access." A bird in a golden, digital cage.Sabatine smoothed a hand over the cold, glassy surface of the machine. It was a statement. You are here only to observe as I feed the data to you, not to touch the system itself. It was a test, disguised as collaboration. Anton was watching, he was certain of it. There would be hidden camera
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Chapter 5: The Warning in the Data
The grey room was not quiet anymore; it was filled with the presence of the missing file and the residual anger from Anton's shattered calm. The single string of text—FILE E.VOSS – CONFIDENTIAL.DAT HAS BEEN PURGED—thrilled on the screen emptiness, an electronic tombstone.They incinerated it," Sabatine repeated, his voice smooth and even. That initial flash of adrenaline at the discovery was giving way to a cold, hard fear. This wasn't about covering their tracks anymore. This was a message. A demonstration of power. We are in, and we're watching you.Anton entered the room, his earlier anger held in a chilly, focused intensity. He glared at the screen as though demanding the information back into existence. "What was on the video? Exactly.""A car park. Rain. Marcus Vale handing more than a metallic case to someone in a black car. The license plate had been concealed. The timing, the day after the theft, is… highly suggestive." Sabatine kept his professional demeanor in his report, b
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Chapter 6: A Question of Loyalty
The air in Anton's office had not yet stilled from the seismic shift in the grey room. The two men's truce was new, a fragile agreement inscribed on water, and the air between them hummed with the silent power of the warning and the erased file. Anton had crossed to his drinks cabinet, not for his own sake, but as a gesture towards normality, and had poured a single measure of fifty-year-old Macallan. The golden liquor burned in the afternoon sunlight, a small, contained flame.Sabatine stood at the wall of glass, his back to the view. He wasn't gazing out at the London skyline; he was staring at the lines of code, the two-word message, the specter of Marcus Vale in the rain. His nerves were still vibrating from the assault, not on the network, but on his soul. Soldier. The word was an echo, a phantom limb of an identity he'd tried to cut away.The door hissed open, without chime or announcement.In walked Evelyn Voss, an image of composed authority. She carried a tablet in one hand a
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Chapter 7: Fractures in Steel
The lull that came after Sabatine left was a different kind of silence. It was no longer the confined, tactical silence of command, but the bare, resonating silence of a fortress whose walls had been revealed to be fictional. Anton remained motionless behind his desk, the taste of the fine whisky now ashes in his mouth. Evelyn's parting shot—"I hope your new general is worth the collateral damage"—rang in his mind, a velvet noose.But it was the probing gaze of Sabatine, the sharp, analytical eyes that looked past chrome and glass and designer suits, that unnerved him the most. That gaze didn't see the CEO; it saw the fissures in the steel. It saw the boy he'd been, the boy who'd learned the hardest lesson of all on one rainy night.The memory was involuntary, its invocation brought about by the strain and the strange, bare honesty Sabatine seemed to elicit from him. He did not try to fight it. He walked to the wall of glass, the lights of London blurring into golden smears as he let
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Chapter 8: The Bodyguard's Past
The dream always began with the sand. It was not soft, yellow poster sand, but a light, fine powder that got everywhere. It grated between his teeth, left a coating on his tongue, and somehow found its way into the sealed mechanisms of his rifle. The heat was palpable, a thick, suffocating blanket pressed down by a blazing white sun. He was crouching behind a broken mud-brick wall, the rough surface grinding into his shoulder blades. The village of Al-Asmar was spread out beneath him, a group of tan and ochre boxes stewing in the afternoon quiet.The comms in his ear were crisp and clear. "Ghost One, this is Nest. Patterns of life confirm. Three HVIs estimated in structure Sigma."High Value Individuals. The intel was good. Weeks of signals intercepts, drone surveillance, and his own painstaking pattern-of-life analysis had painted a clear picture. The insurgent commanders were using the small, seemingly abandoned house on the edge of the village as a meeting point. The moment was no
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Chapter 9: A Dinner in Shadows
The invitation had not been issued by Eleanor, but by one embossed card left on the desk of the grey room. The writing was calligraphic, the note concise.'Dinner. 8 PM. The Penthouse. Strategy.'It wasn't a request, an order. Anton's idea of cooperation, no doubt. A controlled environment, a cooked meal, a conversation steered with all the tact of a boardroom presentation. Sabatine almost didn't go. The memory of the dream was still an open wound, and the tremble in his hand had only just faded entirely an hour earlier. But avoidance was a sign of weakness, and he could show none, not to Anton. He arrived at 8:02, a small gesture of disobedience. The penthouse was not what he had expected. It was the topmost floor of the Rogers Industries skyscraper, but it was no mere extension of the corporate aesthetic below. It was a gallery of stark, breathtaking minimalism. The floor was glossy black basalt, reflecting the endless night sky through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The furnitur
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Chapter 10: Under Surveillance
The stillness of the penthouse elevator was a welcome respite from the strain of the dinner. Sabatine leaned back against the chilly metal wall, the ghost of Anton's naked, unfettered suffering suspended in the air between them. 'You make me feel it all over again.' The admission had been a crack in the billionaire's armor, a glimpse of the man behind the steel and silicon.It was a vulnerability, and in their world, vulnerability was a target.The elevator doors opened into the chilly, marble-faced private residential floor lobby. It was deserted, the night security detail probably at the main entrances to the building. A single big screen was on the wall opposite the elevators and displayed a grid of images from security cameras around the penthouse floor. It was a standard setup, a final glance for the residents to see that their world was secure before retiring.Sabatine's stride slowed. His eyes, trained by years of selecting out the deviant from seas of information, swept the g
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