Chapter 30

Liam's POV 

The number was seventy-two.

In the cold, mathematical landscape of the Sterling Tech boardroom, seventy-two percent was more than just a figure; it was a guillotine. It was the threshold for a forced CEO removal under the "Moral Turpitude" clause—a fail-safe designed to protect the company’s soul from a leader who had lost his own. Currently, my support was hovering at a precarious sixty-eight. I could feel the eyes of the board members burning into the back of my neck, their loyalty shifting with every tick of the falling stock price.

I watched Special Agent Vance approach Isabella. He didn't touch her; he treated her like an unexploded ordnance, something that might detonate if handled with anything less than clinical detachment. Behind him, two technicians in lead-lined aprons set down a portable biometric scanner. The metallic thud of the equipment echoed against the glass walls, a sound that felt final.

"Mr. Sterling," Vance said, his voice as flat as a dial tone. "The Department of Defense has a standing claim on the Medusa protocols. Under the National Security Act, we are authorized to secure any biological assets associated with the project. You are advised to step back."

"She isn't an asset," I said. My voice sounded steady, but the words felt thin—a paper shield held up against a category five hurricane. I shifted my weight, placing myself slightly in front of her. "She is a private citizen, my wife, and the majority shareholder of Vane Global. You are overstepping jurisdictional boundaries that haven't even been defined yet."

Vance didn't blink. "She is a synthesized entity, according to the affidavits and laboratory records filed by the Vane estate an hour ago. Until we verify her biological status and the potential threat level of the embedded protocols, she is a matter of national security. Jurisdiction is a luxury you no longer possess."

I felt Isabella’s hand brush against my lower back, a ghost of a touch that disappeared before I could acknowledge it. She was standing perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the scanner. She wasn't arguing, wasn't pleading. She was calculating. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head, the same way they did when she was dissecting a hostile takeover bid.

"Liam," she whispered, her voice so soft it barely carried past my shoulder.

I didn't turn around. I couldn't move. Every muscle in my body was coiled, ready to strike, but my brain was running the numbers. If I interfered with a federal warrant, that sixty-eight percent support would vanish in a heartbeat. I would be arrested, removed from the board, and stripped of my voting power. If I lost the company, I lost the legal department, the private security force, and the billions in liquid capital I needed to fight the DOJ. To save her from this room, I had to let them take her.

It was a trade I hated before I even made it.

"Let them run the scan," I said.

The silence that followed was a physical weight. I felt Isabella’s gaze shift from the machine to the side of my face. I didn't look at her. I couldn't. I knew what I would see—the slow, agonizing realization that I was choosing the empire over the empress. Her breath hitched, and then I felt her jaw set.

"Do it," she told the agent, her voice ringing with a coldness that matched the sterile room.

The technicians stepped forward. They clipped a sensor to her earlobe and placed her hand on a glass plate that glowed with an eerie violet light. The scanner emitted a low, rhythmic hum that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. I watched the wall monitor, my hands balled into fists inside my pockets.

A waveform appeared on the screen—a jagged, luminous green line that defied the standard patterns of human physiology. It was the same haunting signature I’d seen on the diagnostics in the car after the bridge. It was the song of the core, unique, undeniable, and utterly non-human.

MATCH CONFIRMED: SUBJECT 0.

"We’re taking her," Vance said, reaching for the radio on his shoulder. "Secure the transport. We’re moving to the Quantico sub-facility."

"No," I stepped forward, the restraint finally snapping, but Miller’s hand caught my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her fingernails digging into the fabric of my suit.

"Liam, don't be a fool," she whispered, leaning into my personal space. "The vote. Sarah is already counting the proxies. If you go down for obstruction now, you lose the chair. You lose the chair, you lose every resource you have to get her back. Look at the board. They’re looking for any excuse to cut you loose."

I looked. The board members were huddled in the far corner, a flock of vultures in tailor-made suits. They weren't watching the tragedy unfolding in the center of the room. Their eyes were glued to their tablets, watching the red numbers of the ticker as Sterling Tech plunged eighteen percent in thirty minutes. To them, Isabella wasn't a woman; she was a toxic asset that needed to be written off.

"Agent Vance," I said, forcing my voice into a low, authoritative register that I used for hostile negotiations. "You cannot remove her from this building. This facility is a Tier-1 secure site with its own independent power grid and bio-containment seals. If you move her through the city, you violate the very containment protocols established by the National Security Act you just cited. If there is a breach during transport, it’s your head on the block."

Vance hesitated, his eyes flicking to the technicians. He knew the legal headache of a jurisdictional battle with Sterling’s lawyers. He also knew that my building was safer than any van on the FDR Drive.

"Fine," Vance grunted, signaling his men. "She stays in the sub-basement lab. We seal the floor. No contact with anyone outside of federal oversight. That includes you, Mr. Sterling. You’re effectively a visitor in your own basement."

I watched as the men lead Isabella toward the elevator. She walked with her head high, her spine a straight line of pure defiance. She didn't look back at me. Not once. The doors slid shut, and the room felt suddenly, violently empty.

"Liam," Sarah said, stepping into the void. She looked older than she had this morning, the stress lines around her mouth deepening. "We need to talk about the proxies. It’s worse than we thought. Blackbridge and Gentry just flipped. They’re demanding your resignation by the opening bell tomorrow. They say the 'Designer Daughter' narrative is a liability that the Sterling brand can't survive."

"I am the Sterling brand," I snapped, turning on her. "I built this. I’m not stepping down because of a media smear orchestrated by Arthur Vane."

"You’re a man who married a government experiment, Liam," she shot back, her voice rising. "The investors don't care about the romance. They care about the patent. If you stay, the company is liquidated by Friday. But if you step down… if you hand the chair to a neutral trustee… the institutional holders will stay their hand."

I walked to the head of the table, looking at the empty chair where Isabella had sat only an hour ago. The scent of her perfume—sandalwood and something sharper, like ozone—still lingered in the air.

"What’s the number?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"Seventy-four," Sarah said. "They have the vote, Liam. Unless you give them a reason to stay. Unless you give them a way to stabilize the Vane assets."

"What reason?"

"Arthur," Miller said, emerging from the shadows near the window. "He’s offering a compromise. He’s a master of optics, Liam. He’ll drop the probate motion and the restraining order if you agree to a joint guardianship of Isabella. A 'Board of Custodians.' You, Arthur, and a DOJ representative."

"He wants to own her," I said, the bile rising in my throat. "He wants to turn his daughter into a corporate subsidiary."

"He wants to stabilize the market," Miller countered. "And he’s the only one who can talk the DOD down. He has the original contracts. He knows the science. He can frame this as a medical recovery rather than a security breach. He knows how to make this go away."

The institutional pressure was a physical weight now, a crushing force demanding a sacrifice. I was being squeezed between the board and the federal government. If I didn't sign, I lost the company. And if I lost the company, Arthur would take her anyway, and I would have no standing, no money, and no power to fight him.

"Give me the document," I said.

My hand didn't shake as I took the pen. I signed the guardianship agreement, effectively turning my wife into a ward of the state and her father. I signed away the marriage for the sake of the merger. I told myself it was strategy. I told myself I was buying her time, that I was the only one who could navigate this labyrinth.

But as the digital ink dried on the screen, I knew I had just built a more comfortable cage, and I was the one who had locked the door.

.