The terminal at the corner of Sophia’s vanity didn’t back up to the Hawthorne Group’s mainframes. It was an entirely off-grid, encrypted deck, insulated by an offshore black-hat vendor she had paid a premium to keep untraceable. In the sleek, triptych reflection of her mirror, flanked by heavy crystal jars of high-end cosmetics, platinum hairpins, and scattered diamond studs, the screen’s harsh green text cast an unblinking, predatory light across her sharp cheekbones.She wasn't looking at wedding invitations. She wasn't balancing the guest lists for the Upper East Side reception, nor was she selecting the silk patterns for the bridal party. She was reviewing the raw, unedited security logs from the north-wing corporate elevators of Hawthorne Tower.Elias had been bleeding focus for three weeks. To the rest of the board, to his overbearing father, and to the financial press, his posture was still pristine. His bespoke navy Brioni suits were perfectly tailored to hide the slight, tell
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