His Most Cherished Regret

Chapter 1

Naomi

The world is perfect. It smells like Nathan. Like clean linen, expensive cologne, and the faint, musky scent of his skin that’s uniquely him. His arm is a heavy, possessive weight across my waist, his chest a solid wall at my back. His heart beats a steady rhythm against my ear, a slow, deep drum that says I’m safe. That I’m his.

He promised. Last night, under the sliver of a moon, with my body still humming from the electricity of his touch, he promised me everything. *You’re it for me, Naomi. Always have been. After graduation, we make it official. You’ll be a Harland. The most cherished woman in this city.*

Ten years. I have loved him for ten years, ever since my foster parents, the Masons, took me in and I met their son’s best friend. The quiet, intense boy with eyes the color of a stormy sea. Now, he’s a man. And he’s mine.

A soft smile touches my lips. I keep my eyes closed, wanting to live in this perfect moment just a little longer. It’s graduation day. The start of our real life.

The bedroom door creaks open. Footsteps, more than one pair, pad softly into the room.

“Figured I’d find you here,” a familiar voice says. My foster brother, Trevor.

Nathan’s grip on me tightens for a second, a subconscious reflex. He stirs, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

“Get out, Trev,” Nathan murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“Silas is calling a meeting in an hour. And Marco’s here,” Trevor replies. The scrape of a chair being pulled across the hardwood floor follows.

“Tell my father the world can wait.”

There’s a low chuckle. It’s not Trevor. It’s Marco, one of Nathan’s lieutenants. “The world waits for no man, boss. Not even you.”

Nathan shifts, pulling the sheet higher over my bare shoulder. A protective gesture that makes my heart swell. He thinks I’m still asleep. It’s better this way. I want to listen to them, to the sound of his voice in the morning, a sound I plan to get used to for the rest of my life.

He switches languages, slipping into the fluid, rapid-fire Italian he uses when he’s talking business. The language he and his family use when they don’t want outsiders to understand. The language my own grandmother, my *nonna*, spoke to me exclusively until the day she died. They have no idea I understand every single word.

*“Did you get what you came for?”* Trevor asks in clumsy, accented Italian. He always tries to keep up, but he sounds like a tourist with a phrasebook.

Nathan laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through me. I almost purr. *“And then some.”*

*“So that’s it, then?”* Marco says, his tone laced with amusement. *“The great Nathan Harland is finally tied down? By this little thing?”*

My smile falters. Little thing? I press my face deeper into the pillow, feigning sleep.

Nathan’s hand strokes my hair, a gesture so tender it makes my breath catch. But his voice, when he replies, is different. It’s colder. Lighter. A performance.

*“Don’t be an idiot,”* Nathan scoffs. The sound is casual, dismissive. It’s a pinprick to the balloon of my happiness. *“This was an exercise. Nothing more.”*

My blood runs cold. The air in my lungs turns to ice. Exercise. *Esercizio*.

*“An exercise?”* Marco presses, disbelief in his tone. *“Nate, the girl’s been following you around with her heart in her eyes since we were kids. This wasn’t just a hookup for her.”*

*“That’s what made it so easy,”* Nathan says. His fingers are still tangled in my hair, so gentle, so possessive. The contrast makes me feel sick. *“It was a warm-up. You know Tiffany gets back from her parents’ place in the Hamptons next week. I needed to be ready for her.”*

Warm-up. *Riscaldamento*.

The word echoes in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. The steady beat of his heart against my ear is no longer a comfort. It’s a countdown. A bomb.

*“You have to practice on something, right?”* he continues, and the casual cruelty of it sucks the air from the room. *“Can’t go into the main event cold.”*

Marco lets out a sharp laugh. Trevor is silent.

“Nate,” Trevor finally says, his voice strained. He switches back to English. “That’s my foster sister you’re talking about.”

*“And I’m talking about her in a language she doesn’t understand,”* Nathan replies smoothly, his Italian seamless again. His hand drops from my hair and lands on my hip, his thumb drawing a lazy circle on my bare skin. The touch feels like a brand. Like a violation. *“Relax, Trevor. She’s nothing. A sweet, naive nothing. It was one night. It’s over. It meant nothing.”*

Nothing. *Niente*.

That’s the word that breaks me. It shatters the perfect world, the perfect morning, the perfect ten-year-long dream. I am nothing. A practice run. A body he used to warm up for someone else. For Tiffany Croft, the cheer captain with the perfect blonde hair and the vacant blue eyes.

Every promise from last night curdles into a lie. Every gentle touch becomes an act of calculated deception. The blood in my veins turns to sludge. My body feels impossibly heavy, pinned to this bed by his arm and the weight of my own humiliation.

I focus on my breathing. In, out. Slow, even. I cannot move. I cannot make a sound. If he knows I heard, if he sees the devastation in my eyes, he’ll have taken my dignity, too. That’s the one thing I have left.

*“Business,”* Nathan says, his tone shifting, becoming hard and clipped. *“What did my father want?”*

They talk for another ten minutes. About shipments and territories. About the Falcone family making moves on their turf. I hear the words, but they don’t register. They’re just noise, a meaningless hum beneath the single word screaming in my head.

*Niente. Niente. Niente.*

Finally, Nathan moves. He lifts his arm from my waist, and the loss of his warmth is a relief. The mattress shifts as he stands. I hear the rustle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, my breathing deep and even.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he says in English, his voice close to my ear. “Don’t move.”

His lips brush my temple. It’s a ghost of a kiss, an insult layered on top of the injury. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to flinch, not to recoil from his touch.

Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut, and the sound of their retreating footsteps fades down the hall.

I’m alone.

For a full minute, I don’t move. I lie perfectly still in the wreckage of my life. I don’t cry. The hurt is too deep for tears. It’s a cold, hard knot in my chest, a shard of glass in my gut. He thought I was weak. Naive. A lost puppy. Nothing.

He was wrong.

Slowly, deliberately, I push myself out of his bed. The sheets, which smell of him, of us, now smell like deceit. I stand on shaky legs and walk to the full-length mirror in the corner of his room. A girl I barely recognize stares back at me. Her hair is a mess, her lips are swollen from his kisses, and there are faint bruises on her neck. Marks of his passion. Marks of my shame.

But her eyes. Her eyes aren’t soft or heartbroken. They’re burning.

I see my laptop on his desk. My foster parents bought it for me as a graduation gift. I walk over, flip open the screen. It boots up, the screen glowing with my future.

The acceptance letter is the first thing I see. *Congratulations on your acceptance to the California Institute of Technology.*

Caltech. Close to home. Close to him. Part of the plan. A plan built on a foundation of lies.

My hand is steady on the trackpad. My fingers move with a purpose I haven’t felt in my entire life. I navigate to the admissions portal. My heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t flutter. It pumps ice through my veins.

I find the link I need. *Decline Your Offer of Admission.*

The cursor hovers over the button for a single, breath-held moment.

Goodbye, Naomi Foster, the sweet, naive nothing.

I click it.

A confirmation page appears. I don’t hesitate. I click again.

It’s done. My future, erased in two seconds.

I open a new browser tab. The search bar is a stark white line, a blank page. A new beginning. I type three letters.

M. I. T.

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Three thousand miles away. A world away. Their application deadline was extended by a week due to a server crash. I have six hours left.

I start typing. My name. My address. My grades are perfect. My test scores are near perfect. I upload the essay I wrote for Caltech, but first I change the last line.

*Original: My goal is to use engineering to build stronger, more connected communities.*

I delete it. I write a new ending.

*My goal is to build systems so secure, so impenetrable, that they can never be broken by anyone or anything.*

I will not be broken. I will not be a warm-up. I will not be nothing.

I will become a fortress. And one day, Nathan Harland will come knocking. And he will find the walls are too high to climb.

Chapter 2

Naomi

The confirmation page glows on the laptop screen. *Your application has been received.* It’s a quiet declaration of war. My own private rebellion, executed in the heart of enemy territory. My hands don’t shake. My breathing is even. The girl who cried herself to sleep over a scraped knee is gone. The woman who stands here now feels nothing but the cold, clean burn of purpose.

I close the laptop, the soft click sealing the decision. I need to get out. I move through his room, a ghost in a place that felt like heaven an hour ago. My clothes are in a heap on his armchair. I pick them up, the scent of my perfume now mingled with his. It makes my stomach clench.

I dress quickly, mechanically. My fingers feel clumsy on the buttons of my shirt. I can’t look in the mirror again. I can’t face the girl with the bruised neck and the dead eyes.

My shoes are by the door. I slip them on and open it a crack, listening. The house is quiet. I slip out, pulling the door shut without a sound. Each step down the grand, carpeted staircase is a step away from him, a step toward myself. I reach the front door and let myself out into the cool morning air.

The walk back to my foster parents’ house next door takes less than a minute, but it feels like crossing a continent. I let myself in the back door, the familiar squeak of the hinge a sound from another lifetime.

“There you are.”

I jump. Trevor is standing in the kitchen doorway, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. His brow is furrowed with concern.

“I was getting ready for graduation,” I say. My voice sounds flat, unfamiliar even to me.

“Nate’s been calling. He said you were gone when he got back.” He takes a step closer. “Are you okay, El? You look… pale.”

“I’m fine, Trevor. Just tired.”

“Tired? Naomi, last night happened. I know it did. Nate’s on cloud nine. He told me he’s going to talk to my parents today, make things official.”

Each word is a fresh twist of the knife. He’s happy. Of course he is. He got his warm-up. His practice run.

“That’s nice,” I say, my voice a perfect imitation of polite disinterest. I walk past him toward the stairs.

“Nice? That’s all you have to say?” He follows me, his voice rising with disbelief. “Naomi, this is what you’ve wanted forever. It’s what he’s wanted, too, even if he’s an idiot about showing it.”

I stop on the bottom step and turn to face him. “It was one night, Trevor. It’s not that serious.”

His jaw drops. “Not that serious? You’re joking, right? This is Nathan we’re talking about. You can’t just… treat him like he’s nothing.”

The irony is so bitter it nearly chokes me. “I’m not. I’m just saying people are making it into a bigger deal than it is.”

“People? *He* is making it a big deal. He’s talking about forever.”

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t,” I say, and the ice in my tone finally makes him flinch. “I need to get ready. The ceremony is in two hours.”

I don’t wait for a reply. I walk up to my room and lock the door behind me.

An hour later, I’m showered and dressed in my cap and gown. My foster mom, Sarah, knocks on the door.

“Naomi, honey? Can I come in?”

I take a deep breath, pasting a smile on my face before I open the door. “Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes are misty. “Oh, look at you. My brilliant girl. All grown up and ready to take on the world.” She fusses with my tassel. “I can’t believe you’ll be at Caltech in just a few short months. Our own little rocket scientist.”

The lie tastes like ash in my mouth. “I’m really excited.”

“We’re so proud of you. Tom and I, and Trevor… and Nathan. He’s practically family, you know. He’s going to miss you like crazy.”

“I’m sure he’ll manage,” I say, keeping my smile fixed in place.

The graduation ceremony is a blur. Names are called, speeches are made. I sit between two girls I barely know, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I scan the rows of graduates until I find him. He’s looking right at me. When our eyes meet, a brilliant, possessive smile spreads across his face. He thinks he owns me.

I give him a small, tight nod and immediately look away, focusing on the speaker at the podium. I can feel his gaze on me for the rest of the ceremony, a physical pressure I refuse to acknowledge.

Afterward, it’s chaos. Families and friends flood the field, a sea of flowers and balloons. My foster parents find me first, crushing me in hugs.

“Congratulations, sweetie!” Tom booms, clapping me on the back.

“We knew you could do it!” Sarah says, her voice thick with emotion.

Then a shadow falls over us. “There she is.”

Nathan’s voice. It’s low and proprietary. I don’t turn around.

“Nathan, congratulations!” Sarah says, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “We were just saying how proud we are of you both.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” he says, but his eyes are locked on the back of my head. “Can I borrow Naomi for a minute? I haven’t had a chance to talk to her all day.”

“Of course,” Tom says with a wink. “Go on, you two.”

A warm hand closes around my arm. The touch that sent shivers down my spine last night now makes my skin crawl. I finally turn to face him.

“Congratulations, Nathan,” I say, my tone perfectly level.

He looks confused, his smile faltering slightly. “Is that all I get? I was hoping for something a little more enthusiastic.” He lowers his voice. “I missed waking up with you.”

“I had to get ready,” I say, pulling my arm gently from his grasp. “It’s a big day.”

“It’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” he corrects me, his stormy eyes intense. “We need to talk. About last night. About what comes next.”

I give him the same plastic smile I gave my foster mother. “Last night was lovely, but there’s nothing to talk about. Now if you’ll excuse me, my parents are taking me for a celebratory lunch.”

I turn my back on his stunned face and walk toward my family, not looking back. “I’m starving,” I announce. “Where are we going?”

Back at the house, the celebration feels like a wake. I pretend to listen to stories, smile at jokes, and accept congratulations from neighbors who stop by. My mind is three thousand miles away, plotting.

I wait until Sarah is alone in the kitchen, refilling a pitcher of iced tea.

“Mom, I have some incredible news,” I begin, forcing my voice to sound breathless with excitement.

“What is it, honey?”

“I just got an email. It’s a last-minute invitation. There’s a special summer program at Caltech for top scholarship recipients. It’s an amazing opportunity, a chance to work directly with Dr. Albright.”

Her face lights up. “Naomi, that’s wonderful! When is it?”

This is the hard part. “It starts Monday. I have to leave tonight.”

Her smile vanishes. “Tonight? But your flight isn’t for another week. We were going to have a proper family dinner, a real send-off.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. But this is… it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can’t miss it.”

Trevor walks in then, his expression dark. “What’s this about leaving tonight?”

I repeat the lie. He doesn’t buy it for a second. His eyes narrow.

“That makes no sense. They can’t just spring something like that on you.”

“They did,” I insist. “It’s prestigious. I have to go.”

“This is about Nathan, isn’t it?” he demands, his voice low. “You’re running away from him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, my voice sharp. “This is about my future. Something you and Nathan wouldn’t understand. You’ve had your futures handed to you on a silver platter since birth.”

The words hit their mark. Trevor recoils as if I’d slapped him. Sarah looks between us, her expression wounded.

“Naomi, that’s not fair,” she says softly.

“Maybe not,” I say, my heart aching with a guilt that is almost as sharp as the betrayal. “But it’s the truth. I need to pack.”

In my room, I move with brutal efficiency. I pack clothes, textbooks, the laptop that is my ticket out. I leave behind the framed photo on my nightstand of me, Trevor, and Nathan at the beach when we were twelve. I leave the dried corsage from junior prom he gave me. I leave behind every piece of the girl who believed in him.

Before I close my suitcase, I pull out a piece of plain stationery and a pen. My hand is steady as I write.

*Nathan,*

*Thank you for a memorable evening. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.*

*Sincerely,*

*Naomi*

I fold it once and slide it into an envelope. Downstairs, Trevor is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, blocking my path.

“What did you do to him?” he asks, his voice raw. “He came by looking for you. He looked… broken, Naomi. He said you wouldn’t even talk to him.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” I try to step around him, but he moves with me.

“I don’t believe you. Something happened in that room this morning.”

“I grew up, Trevor,” I say softly. “That’s what happened.” I hold out the envelope. “Can you give this to him? I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

He takes it warily, his eyes searching mine for an answer I won’t give. He opens the flap and reads the few short lines. His head snaps up, his face a mask of confusion.

“‘Sincerely, Naomi’? That’s it? It sounds like a damn business letter. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a goodbye note,” I say, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for my flight.”

I push past him before he can say another word. The drive to the airport is a quiet, painful affair. Sarah cries silently in the passenger seat. Tom keeps clearing his throat, trying to find words that won’t come.

At the departures curb, they hug me so tightly I can barely breathe.

“Call us the minute you land in California, you hear?” Tom says, his voice thick.

“I will,” I lie. “I love you both so much. Thank you for everything.”

I pull away, grab my suitcase, and walk into the terminal without looking back. If I look back, I’ll break. And I can’t afford to break.

An hour later, I’m sitting at Gate B27. I pull out my phone and look at my boarding pass. The screen is bright in the dim terminal.

*FLIGHT 1138 TO BOSTON, MA.*

He called me nothing. A warm-up. An exercise.

I am not nothing.

I am a fortress. And I’m about to lay the first stone.

Chapter 3

Naomi

Five years.

The city of Boston is a grid of glittering diamonds laid out below my office window. The view from the forty-second floor is supposed to be a constant reminder of how far I’ve come. Three thousand miles and a lifetime away from the girl who believed in promises made in the dark.

My reflection in the glass is a stranger. Her hair is cut in a sharp, dark bob that frames a face that has forgotten how to be soft. Her suit is custom-tailored silk, the color of charcoal. Her eyes are the only thing I recognize. They still burn.

“You’re not going to like this,” Liam says, walking into my office without knocking. He never does. Co-founders don’t need formalities.

He drops a heavy file onto my glass desk. The sound is a dull thud in the quiet, climate-controlled air. The folder is thick, bound in expensive-looking navy leather. No logo. Just a single, embossed name in gold leaf.

Harland Industries.

The name hits me like a physical blow. It’s a ghost in the machine of my new life. A bug in the code I’ve spent five years writing. My heart doesn’t leap. It doesn’t ache. It does what I trained it to do. It goes silent and cold.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice perfectly even. I don’t touch the folder. I look at Liam, my business partner and the closest thing I have to a friend.

“It’s the white whale, El. The one we’ve been hearing whispers about for six months.” He sinks into one of the leather chairs opposite my desk, running a hand through his already messy blond hair. “They want a complete security overhaul. Top to bottom. Physical, digital, the works. They want impenetrable.”

I finally let my gaze fall to the folder. Harland Industries. The legitimate, publicly traded face of a criminal empire. A name that tastes like ash.

“Their reputation precedes them,” I say, my tone dry.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Liam says, leaning forward. “Their current head of security just ‘retired’ to Belize after a massive data breach last month. The one the press called a ‘server malfunction’. My sources say the Falcone family walked out with their entire payroll and a list of offshore accounts.”

“So they’re bleeding, and they’re scared.” I allow myself a small, humorless smile. “My favorite kind of client.”

“They’re also the mafia, Naomi. Or have you forgotten the stories about where you grew up?”

I meet his gaze. “I forget nothing.”

He sighs, knowing he’s treading on thin ice. “The money is insane. Eight figures. That’s just the initial retainer. It would put us on a whole new level. We’d be untouchable.”

Untouchable. The word hangs in the air between us. It’s the goal. The entire point of this company, of this life I built from scratch.

“Who’s the point of contact?” I ask, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee mug.

Liam flips open the folder, his eyes scanning the first page. “It’s all being handled at the highest level. The request comes directly from the CEO… Silas Harland.”

Silas. Nathan’s father. The patriarch. A man who moves chess pieces in a world of wolves. A man who probably ordered his son to prove his ruthlessness all those years ago.

“And the day-to-day will be managed by the COO,” Liam continues, oblivious to the storm gathering behind my eyes. “A Nathan Harland.”

He says the name like it’s just another name. Just a client. My mask of cool professionalism is the only thing holding me together. I keep my expression neutral, my posture relaxed. Inside, a war is raging.

*A warm-up. Nothing. Niente.*

“I’ve heard the name,” I say, the lie smooth and practiced. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of the lie. The first one was to my foster parents about a summer program at Caltech. The last one is now.

“He’s the heir apparent,” Liam says. “The Underboss, if you believe the rumors. Runs the whole show. Word is he’s twice as cold as his father.”

“Good,” I say. “Cold is predictable. Emotion is a vulnerability in a system. I prefer my clients to be predictable.”

Liam watches me, his blue eyes sharp with an intelligence that often makes him a pain in the ass. “You’re being strangely calm about this. We’re talking about organized crime, El. They don’t just fire people. They make them disappear. If we fail…”

“We don’t fail,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Our firm has a one hundred percent success rate. We have never had a breach. We have never failed. That’s why they came to us.”

“And that’s why I’m worried. A perfect record makes you a target. These people are not like our usual tech billionaires or paranoid hedge fund managers. This is a different league.”

“Are you saying we should turn it down?” I challenge him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you saying we’re not good enough?”

“Of course not,” he bristles. “I’m saying we need to go into this with our eyes wide open. The contract requires our lead consultant to be on-site for the duration of the initial audit. At their headquarters. Back in your old stomping grounds.” He pauses, letting the words land. “That means you, Naomi.”

Of course it does. The universe has a sick sense of humor. It’s not enough to dangle him in front of me. It wants to throw me right back into the lion’s den.

“I’m aware of what my job entails,” I say.

He leans back, studying my face. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I’ve known you for six years. I’ve seen you face down federal agents and black-hat hackers from Moscow without blinking. But this… this feels different. Your walls are up higher than usual.”

“My walls are what keep this company safe,” I reply, my voice clipped. “They’re what you pay me for.”

“I don’t pay you. We’re partners,” he reminds me gently. “Talk to me. Is there a history here I need to know about?”

I finally reach for the folder, my manicured nails making a soft clicking sound on the leather. I open it. The first page is a letter of intent on heavy, cream-colored stationery. Signed in a bold, aggressive hand by Silas Harland. The second is a list of their current systems. It’s archaic, a patchwork of legacy software and sloppy, in-house fixes. It’s a joke.

It’s an insult.

“Their infrastructure is a mess,” I murmur, flipping through the pages. “It’s like they’ve been begging to be hacked. No wonder the Falcones walked all over them.”

“So we can fix it?” Liam asks, his focus shifting back to business. He knows when he’s hit a boundary with me.

“Fix it? Liam, I could bring this entire empire to its knees with a laptop and a decent Wi-Fi connection in under an hour.” A cold, thrilling sense of power washes over me. The fear is gone, replaced by a crystalline purpose. “They have no idea how exposed they are.”

“So we take the job?” he asks, a grin finally breaking across his face. He’s seeing the dollar signs again. I’m seeing something else entirely.

Vindication.

“We take the job,” I confirm. “But on our terms. Non-negotiable.”

“Which are?”

“One, we get full, unrestricted root access to every server, every device, every account. No exceptions. No black boxes. I want the keys to the entire kingdom.”

Liam whistles softly. “They’ll never agree to that. They have secrets.”

“Their secrets are the vulnerability. If they want to be secure, they have to trust us. If they don’t, the deal is off.” I hold up a second finger. “Two, our team operates independently. Their IT staff reports to me. I don’t want anyone from their side meddling in our work.”

“Standard procedure for us,” he agrees, nodding. “What’s three?”

I lean back in my chair, looking past him, out at the city that became my refuge. The city that helped me forge this armor. Now, it’s time to go back to the forge. Back to the fire.

“Three,” I say slowly, “we’re doubling our fee.”

Liam chokes on air. “Doubling it? Naomi, their initial offer is already obscene. There’s no way…”

“They’re desperate,” I interrupt. “They’re humiliated. A rival family just proved they own them. For a man like Silas Harland, that’s worse than losing money. It’s about losing face. He will pay anything to get it back.” I tap the folder. “This isn’t just about security for them, Liam. It’s about power. And we are now in the position to sell it back to them at a premium.”

He stares at me, a mixture of awe and fear in his eyes. “You’re ruthless.”

“I learned from the best,” I say, the words tasting like poison. I stand up and walk to the window, my back to him. The city lights blur into a watercolor painting.

This isn’t just a job. It’s a test. A final exam. For five years, I have told myself that what Nathan Harland did meant nothing. That he meant nothing. That I had moved on, become stronger, left that weak, naive girl behind in a stranger’s bed.

Was it all just another lie?

Going back there, facing him… it’s the only way to know for sure. It’s the only way to close the loop. To prove to myself that I am the fortress I claim to be. And he is just a man. A client.

Nothing.

“I’ll need my Ghost protocol,” I say, my voice distant. “The full diagnostic suite. Tell the dev team I want it ready to deploy by the end of the week.”

“Ghost? You haven’t used that since the Geneva hack. You said it was too aggressive.”

“Harland Industries requires an aggressive solution.” It’s my masterpiece. A program that doesn’t just look for vulnerabilities; it acts like a poltergeist, rattling the chains of a system, mimicking an attack to see how it responds, where it breaks. It’s beautiful and terrifying.

It’s me, in lines of code.

Liam is silent for a long moment. I can feel his stare on my back. “Okay, El. I’ll draw up the counter-offer. Unrestricted access, full operational command, and a sixteen-figure retainer. You’re sure about this? Once we’re in, we’re in. There’s no backing out.”

I turn from the window, my expression set in stone. The reflection in the glass shows a woman in complete control. The girl is gone. Buried. This is what she died for.

“Send the proposal, Liam.”

He nods, standing up to leave. “I’ll let you know what they say.”

I know what they’ll say. They’ll say yes. Men like the Harlands don’t respect caution. They respect power. And I’m about to show them what real power looks like.

“And Liam?” I call out as he reaches the door.

He turns. “Yeah?”

“Book me a flight.”