C4

"You're actually hiding? On your own birthday?"

I didn't turn around as I adjusted the collar of the silk dress Fila and Ealia had practically forced me into. The Moretti Estate was already vibrating with the low-frequency hum of a professional sound system being tested.

"I'm not hiding, Cante," I told Caniel “Cante” Russo, one of the junior tech leads, as he passed by with a stack of encrypted tablets. "I'm just avoiding the crossfire. My internal sync went live at midnight, and now the entire second floor smells like the three people I’m legally obligated to despise."

"The triplets?" Cante asked, a sympathetic wince crossing his face. "I heard their promotion to Don-status is happening at 9:00 PM sharp. If I were you, I’d stay in the server room."

"I wish," I muttered, heading toward the kitchen. "But Mao and Castalia have me on the hospitality roster. Apparently, being a high-level data analyst doesn't exempt me from carrying a tray of champagne."

As I walked, the scent of the brothers hit me again—a sensory assault of dark espresso, expensive gasoline, and aged bourbon. My pulse hammered against my ribs. I was eighteen. The "Noir" protocols in my head were screaming that they were my biological matches, the three pillars of the Syndicate I was meant to support. It was a cruel joke. I’d never even been on a date, and now I was hard-wired to three men who used to throw my tablets in the pool for fun.

"Daniels! There you are!" Rosa Delgado barked, strutting into the room in a dress that looked more like a bandage than clothing. She was holding three designer gift bags, her eyes scanning the room for the brothers. "Where are the heirs? I have their customized security fobs ready for the ceremony."

"They're probably still sleeping off the club crawl," I said, my voice flat. "They don't usually surface until the sun is high."

"Typical," she huffed, but she stayed, waiting like a vulture.

Suddenly, the heavy thud of boots echoed from the grand staircase. My heart did a frantic somersault. They were awake. Early. I didn't think; I just bolted out the side door into the Moretti Territory, the cold air hitting my face as I activated my Noir speed protocols, pushing my physical limits just to get away from the smell of them.

"She's gone," Luca growled, standing in the middle of Daniels' tiny storage-closet-turned-bedroom. "The room is empty, but her scent... it's everywhere."

"She’s terrified," Nic said, his voice unusually quiet as he picked up a worn textbook from her shelf. It smelled like her—honeysuckle and rain—but now it was laced with the scent of the three of them. "She knows. The second her sync went live last night, she realized who we are to her."

"We’ve spent ten years making her life a living hell," Teo muttered, pacing the small space. "And now we find out she's the one? The one girl the Syndicate data says is our perfect tactical and biological match?"

"We fix it," Nic stated, the authority of a future Don settling over him. "We find her, we secure her, and we make sure she knows that the old rules are dead."

They headed downstairs, where they found Rosa waiting by the bar.

"Nic! Happy birthday!" she squealed, thrusting a gift bag at him. "I’ve been waiting to show you the new security layouts—"

"Where is Daniels?" Nic interrupted, his gaze lethal.

Rosa blinked, her smile faltering. "Who? The Charity Case? She went running off into the perimeter like a maniac an hour ago. Probably trying to avoid her chores."

"Her name is Daniels," Luca snarled, stepping into Rosa's space until she backed into a table. "And if you call her that nickname again, you’re off the Syndicate payroll. Permanently."

By 6:00 PM, the Moretti Estate had been transformed into a high-tech fortress of luxury. The Velvet Syndicate House staff were moving through the crowd, and I was among them, carrying a tray of vintage champagne. I’d spent an hour in front of the mirror, masking the dark circles under my eyes with expensive concealer and letting my blonde curls fall over my shoulders in a defiant wave.

"Hey, Charity—I mean, Daniels," a voice whispered.

I turned to see Tatiana Volkov, Aienna Cross, and Hria Blake. The triplets' usual rotation. They looked miserable, their eyes red-rimmed despite their heavy makeup.

"Are you okay?" I asked, setting the tray down on a side table.

"They dumped us," Hria blurted out, her bottom lip trembling. "All three of them. This morning. Over an encrypted text."

"They said they found their permanent match," Tatiana added, her voice bitter. "Six weeks of top-tier loyalty, and they brush us off like yesterday's software update."

My stomach dropped. They’d done it. The moment they realized I was their match, they cleared the deck. I felt a wave of nausea. Did they actually want me? Or was I just another piece of Syndicate property they had to claim?

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Don't be," Aienna snapped. "We just want to know who she is. Who's the girl who's worth throwing away three perfectly good social contracts for?"

I couldn't look them in the eye. I picked up my tray and hurried back toward the kitchen, my heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor.

I was halfway across the foyer when the music shifted to a heavy, rhythmic bass. The crowd parted.

Nic, Teo, and Luca entered the room. They were dressed in matching charcoal-grey suits, looking every bit like the billionaire biker royalty they were. They didn't look at the guests. They didn't look at the Don.

Their eyes were locked directly on me.

"Daniels," Nic’s voice carried over the music, amplified by the house's audio system. "Put the tray down. We need to talk about your new contract."

The entire room went silent. Every eye in the Syndicate was on the girl in the black sequin dress and the three men who were about to inherit the world.