Chapter 8

Alistair Thorne stood in the central monitoring hub of Thorne Global Security, his arms crossed over his chest. The room was dark, illuminated only by fifty high-definition screens displaying live data streams from every asset his family owned.

"The auxiliary shipping accounts are showing an anomaly," his chief financial officer said, his voice laced with panic. "Over the last three weeks, micro-transactions totaling nearly eighty thousand euros have vanished from the Genoa-Solaria route logistics pool. We can't trace the destination. The data just... dissolves into the public decentralized ledger."

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. "Who has access to those specific logistics nodes?"

"Only the executive board, Alistair," Julian’s voice cut through the dark as he walked into the room, a smug, venomous smile on his face. "Or... perhaps someone living under your roof who has a peculiar interest in our regulatory files. I told you, Alistair, the girl from Oakhaven isn't as dumb as she looks."

Alistair turned his head slowly, his gaze so freezing that Julian’s smile faltered. "Evelyn doesn't have executive clearance, Julian. If there is a breach, it’s an external hacker. The signature matches Hex—the same entity that targeted my personal scheduler four months ago."

"Then find them," Julian spat. "Because if the board thinks you can't even secure our shipping revenue, they won't care if your wife is pregnant or not."

Once Julian left, Alistair dialed a private encrypted number. "Valentin. I need your personal cyber-specialist. Someone is siphoning funds from the logistics pool, and they're using the Hex signature again."

"I’ll send over my best guy," Valentin’s low rumble came through the speaker. "But Alistair... I ran a background check on that clinic your wife visited last week in Oakhaven. The old doctor there, Marcus Vance? He’s clean, but his adopted son, Kai Vance, is an ex-military tactical specialist who got dishonorably discharged for dismantling a state surveillance network. Your little bird is keeping some very strange company."

Alistair’s hand tightened around his phone. A strange, suffocating sensation rose in his throat. "Keep a tail on her. If she goes near that clinic again, detain her."

He hung up, his mind turning over the variables. Evelyn. The quiet girl who had run to him with nothing but raw sincerity and a desperate hope. The woman who had melted in his arms under the Solaria rain. Was she the one pulling the strings of his digital empire, or was she just a pawn being used by his enemies?

He took the private elevator back to the penthouse. When he entered, the lights were dim. Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen island, a glass of warm milk in her hands, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She looked small, fragile, and completely innocent.

"You're working late," she said softly, looking up at him with those wide, clear eyes.

Alistair walked over, standing close to her, his large hand reaching out to stroke her hair. The silkiness of it felt like an illusion. "We have a leak in the company, Evelyn. A hacker is trying to take what belongs to me."

Evelyn didn't blink. She reached up, her small hand covering his, her expression entirely serene. "Then I'm sure you'll find them, Alistair. You always protect your investments."

The word investments hung in the air between them, heavy and cold as ice. Alistair leaned down, pressing a hard, sudden kiss to her lips, searching for any sign of guilt, any hesitation. But Evelyn only kissed him back with a perfect, compliant stillness that told him absolutely nothing.