Chapter 816
The rain in this city didn’t wash anything clean; it just made the grime slicker. Tonight, it felt like the sky was weeping for a world on the brink of collapse.
We had touched down at the private airfield six hours ago, cutting our honeymoon short the moment the “Blue Phoenix” alert flashed across Alistair’s phone. The tarmac had been chaos. I’d dispatched Lucian ahead to the estate to initiate a hard lockdown and reboot the perimeter servers, a job that required physical access and hours of calibration. Meanwhile, I’d taken the armored Rolls-Royce straight into the financial district to stop the bleeding.
I sat in the back of the car now, the leather cool against my legs, a tablet balanced on my knees. The screen didn’t glow with the usual comforting rows of green profit margins. Instead, it was a sea of red. The “Blue Phoenix” cyberattack had paralyzed the Global Bank system less than twenty-four hours ago. Oracle Holdings’ quarterly projections were meaningless when the currency itself was in freefall. I stared at liquidity reports, emergency asset reallocations, and the terrifying reality that billions of dollars had simply evaporated into the digital void.
Outside, the storm was a living thing, lashing the tinted glass. The world was a blur of neon smeared by water. We were detouring along the edge of the Old Industrial District, a shortcut my driver insisted on to avoid the gridlock downtown caused by failing traffic lights. This was the part of the city the digital age forgot, a landscape of brick, rust, and unpaved alleys where red clay turned into thick, clinging paste in the rain.
I didn’t mean to look. It was instinct. A reflex born from years of watching my back.
I turned my head toward the window.
Through the curtain of rain, under the dripping awning of a closed pawn shop, stood a figure I knew better than my own reflection in the dark.
𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴.𝘤𝘰𝘮
Lucian.
He shouldn’t have been here. He was supposed to be miles away at Cliffside Haven, deep in the server bunker.
He wasn’t alone.
A man in a dark baseball cap stood opposite him. The stranger was shorter, wire-thin, his posture radiating nervous energy. He handed Lucian a thick manila envelope. Lucian took it. He didn’t check the contents. He just slid it into the inner pocket of his trench coat.
My heart didn’t race. It stopped. The jolt was physical, like missing a step on a staircase in the dark.
Lucian Graves. The man who had guarded my back when the world tried to stick a knife in it. The man who had stood beside Alistair at our wedding only days ago, saving him from the wreckage of the Architect’s final ploy.
The light turned green. The car surged forward.
“Stop,” I almost said. The word formed on my tongue, tasting like ash.
But I swallowed it. If I stopped the car, if I confronted him now, I’d lose the advantage. Lucian wouldn’t be here unless it was critical. But why the secrecy? Why an analog exchange in a dead zone? In this game, information was the only currency that mattered now that digital money was frozen.
I sat back, my fingers tightening around the strap of my handbag until the leather creaked. I forced my breathing to even out. In. Out. If he’d taken a motorbike, he could weave through traffic and beat the Rolls back to the estate—assuming he left immediately. A tight window, but physically possible.
Twenty minutes later, the car crunched over the gravel of the driveway. The estate was a fortress of light against the storm, running on independent generators to avoid the city’s rolling blackouts.
Lucian was waiting at the main entrance. He held a large black umbrella, stepping forward to open my door before the driver could. He looked immaculate, not a hair out of place.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Thorne,” he said. His voice was steady. His face was a mask of professional indifference.
I stepped out, ignored his hand, and walked up the stairs. He followed, collapsing the umbrella with a sharp snap.
I stopped in the foyer and turned to face him. Water dripped from his coat onto the marble floor.
“You’re wet,” I said softly.
“Perimeter check,” Lucian replied without missing a beat. “The storm triggered a few false alarms in the north sector. I’ve been monitoring the feeds from the control room all evening.”
“You’ve been here all night?” I asked, looking him dead in the eye.
His gaze didn’t waver. Not even a flicker. “Yes. Checking the security systems.”
He was lying.
The realization settled in my stomach, cold and jagged. Lucian didn’t lie to me for his own gain. He lied to protect. But protect whom? Me? Or someone else?
“Is everything alright, Skye?”