LUCIAN CASTELLAN

  The conference room smelled like leather, power, and unease.

  I sat at the head of the long obsidian table, the glass walls behind me dimmed with privacy tint. Sunlight flickered across the surface like a warning. I drummed my fingers once on the lacquered wood, sharp and slow. Then—silence.

  Dante sat to my right, legs crossed. The usual cocky tilt of his mouth was gone today. Arlo stared at the edge of his tablet, jaw locked. Xander kept shifting in his seat, tapping his stylus against his knee like a tic he hadn't noticed. Elena was perfectly still—eyes neutral, face unreadable. And Rafael—my brother—stood by the window, arms folded, watching everything.

  I didn't waste time with pleasantries.

  "There's a mole," I said, my voice flat.

  The words dropped like a guillotine.

  No one moved. No one reacted—at first.

  Then the room breathed. Xander stilled. Arlo's eyes twitched up. Dante's lips parted, but no words came. Elena blinked once.

  I leaned back in my chair, one arm resting on the steel armrest, my gaze cutting across each of them.

  "In this room," I clarified. "One of you."

  A beat passed.

  "Someone's been feeding data—sensitive data—outside this company. Strategic records. Client movements. Meeting logs. Someone's leaking us."

  Still, no one spoke.

  I wasn't watching for words. I was watching eyes. Throats. Fingers. Denial was easy. It was instinctive. What I wanted was hesitation. Panic. The kind of tight breath that only came when someone realized they might've been seen.

  But they were composed. Too composed.

  Dante tilted his head. "Are we sure it's internal?"

  I smiled without warmth. "We are."

  I didn't explain how. Let them wonder. Let them stew.

  Cyrene would've called it psychological cornering—pressing all sides until someone cracked. But Cyrene wasn't here.

  Just the void she'd left behind.

  Elena cleared her throat softly. "What's the play?"

  I didn't answer her. Not yet. My gaze landed on each face again, slowly.

  "I won't name anyone," I said. "Not because I don't have suspicions. I do. All of you."

  Xander stiffened. Arlo opened his mouth, closed it. Dante stared back, defiant. Elena's jaw tensed.

  "But I won't say names," I continued. "Because this isn't a court hearing. It's a warning."

  My voice dropped—quiet, even—but the weight behind it pulled the air tight.

  "You think you're invisible. You think you're clever. You're not. I see everything."

  A long pause.

  "Everything."

  Rafael's expression didn't change. He remained by the window, a silent monolith. The only man I trusted.

  I pushed away from the table slightly. The leather of my chair creaked as I rose—slowly, deliberately. I circled the table like a predator circling its kill.

  "When I find out who it is—and I will—there won't be a conversation. There won't be a resignation or a quiet exit with severance and a whisper. There will be consequences so permanent you'll pray it ends with your career."

  Xander swallowed.

  Arlo looked down.

  Dante's fingers curled into fists.

  I stopped near the end of the table. I planted both hands on the surface, leaning forward.

  "I don't bluff. I don't posture. If any of you think this company's secrets are for sale, you'll find out just how expensive that betrayal becomes."

  The words sat heavy in the room.

  I stood upright again, my suit silent as it straightened. My eyes lingered on Elena—just long enough for her to notice.

  Then came the voice in his ear.

  Elena's comm buzzed at the same time.

  I felt my attention snap to the ping on Elena's screen. It cut through the tension in the room, a sharp reminder that something had interrupted the flow of this meeting. I narrowed my eyes.

  "What's that?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, but anyone could hear the edge of irritation beneath it.

  She glanced at the screen, her eyes scanning the message. "Just came through," she said, her tone steady. "CipherWorks sent an update."

  I leaned in slightly, the frustration already gnawing at me. "What did it say?"

  She read aloud, her voice almost too casual. "The representative assigned to SteelWorks won't be available until Monday."

  I clenched my jaw. My mind immediately went to her. To Cyrene. The thought of not seeing her until Monday stirred something dark in me—something I didn't have time to unpack. The message was too... lacking. It was as if they didn't think I'd care.

  "Is that all?" My voice had dropped a notch colder than it was before.

  "Yes," Elena replied, her face unreadable. "No further details."

  I let out a sharp breath, fighting to keep my frustration from spilling over. This was... typical. Typical of CipherWorks, typical of everything that annoyed me lately.

  "Typical," I muttered, my tone low. And yet, I knew they could all hear me.

  Lucian sat back down. Let them stew in it a little longer. Then—

  "Meeting's over," he said.

  They didn't move immediately.

  "I said, it's over."

  This time, they stood.

  Chairs scraped back. Tablets tucked under arms. But no one spoke as they left. They filed out with quiet tension, eyes avoiding his, except Rafael's. His brother lingered last, gaze steady.

  Lucian didn't speak to him. Didn't need to.

  When the door shut, Lucian was alone with the silence.

  But the storm was far from over.

  And he had work to do.

  I stayed seated. Let the silence work the edges of the room.

  The fallout hadn't begun yet. But it would.

  My team filed out too quietly. No pushback. No damage control. That kind of stillness always came before someone made a mistake. I'd set the temperature. Now I'd wait for someone to sweat.

  The chair creaked as I leaned back. I flexed one hand. Then stopped.

  I wasn't done being annoyed.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Not just by the mole.

  Not just by Darien's stunt in New York. That little zoning stunt was going to cost him. He just didn't know it yet.

  No, what scraped harder than anything was that damned CipherWorks message.

  The representative will not be available until Monday.

  I didn't need to read between the lines. I already knew who it was about.

  I hadn't seen her in a day. Not even a full one. But that update irritated me more than it should've. Something about the wording. The lack of explanation. Just a blank space where she used to be.

  I didn't like blank spaces.

  She hadn't pinged. No encrypted message. No reason. No sign-off. Just a gap—impersonal and clean, like she hadn't been standing in front of me hours ago, doing things I couldn't stop replaying.

  And now? Silence.

  It shouldn't have gotten under my skin. I had bigger problems. Someone inside Castellan was selling me out. I should've been focused.

  Instead, I was running scenarios. Unfolding logistics in my head.

  Where had she gone?

  I didn't like not knowing.

  I grabbed the secure tablet. Opened the black channel. Nothing on it. Not even a ping trace. She'd locked it down.

  Standard protocol, sure. But I'd been expecting something. Even a one-word heads-up.

  I stared at the screen for a long beat.

  Then typed: Understood.

  Didn't send it.

  Deleted it.

  Closed the screen.

  It didn't matter. She was off-grid until Monday. And I had no control over that.

  Fine.

  I stood, reset the chair, poured a glass of water instead of scotch, and walked back to the window.

  She'd made herself a ghost. Again.

  And I had other ghosts to hunt.

  ________________

  Lucian had buried himself in work for hours—aggressively, methodically—but the itch at the back of his mind wouldn't fade.

  Then it came.

  A clean, precise thought.

  He stood, phone already in hand. One contact. No hesitation.

  Shade answered on the second ring. No greeting. Just silence.

  Lucian didn't bother with pleasantries.

  "I need eyes," he said, voice clipped. "Full surveillance. Arlo. Dante. Elena. Xander."

  Shade didn't ask why.

  "No system access. Leave the tech to CipherWorks. Focus on physical movement—schedules, meetings, off-book stops. Quietly. No one gets a tail they can feel."

  Silence. Then a short click—acknowledgment.

  "I want a full report by end of day. Past seventy-two hours logged. Cross-check for inconsistencies. If someone's been slipping off-radar, I want to know where and with who."

  Lucian's tone dropped, darker.

  "If even one of them suspects they're being watched, it's over. I'll consider it compromised."

  Another pause. Then Shade's voice, low and exact:

  "Understood."

  Lucian ended the call.

  He didn't trust the room. But he trusted Shade to disappear into their shadows.

  And Cyrene—CipherWorks—she'd handle the servers.

  Even if she had the audacity to go silent until Monday.

  It hadn't even been a full day.

  But the absence already felt like a crack beneath his skin.

  He shoved the thought aside.

  This wasn't about her.

  Not yet.

  By the time I left the office, the sun had dipped low behind the skyline. The city was still pulsing—headlights crawling over asphalt, buildings humming with people who didn't know they were being watched. I told Rafael not to follow. I didn't need a shadow tonight.

  The drive home was quiet. I didn't speak. Didn't look at my phone. I let the silence settle in the cabin while my mind kept circling the same loop: four people. Four long-standing incumbents. One of them feeding intel out of my company.

  That wasn't just betrayal. That was structural rot.

  SteelWorks didn't survive rot. It cut it out.

  The gates opened before I had to ask. I stepped out as soon as the car stopped.

  Inside, the house was still—automated lights low, climate set. The space was precise, immaculate. Designed for control, not comfort.

  I shed the day slowly. Jacket off. Tie loosened. Cuff links on the kitchen counter.

  Dinner was where it always was—delivered, untouched. I didn't need it plated. I opened the container myself, venison and charred vegetables, nothing heavy. I ate while I read through the day's final trade reports on my tablet.

  Revenue streams looked stable. Construction sites in Hamburg and Riyadh were hitting deadlines. But the Manhattan project... it was bottlenecked. Minister Krol was playing politics again—stalling permits, withholding signatures. He wanted leverage.

  He'd get a war.

  I finished eating. Washed the glass. Left the rest spotless.

  Then came the shower—hot, fast, methodical. I didn't linger. I didn't let my mind drift. Too much to account for. Too many fractures forming under the surface.

  SteelWorks wasn't a typical corporation. It was generational, multi-sector, global. The fact that someone thought they could skim secrets out of its core without me noticing was either stupidity or arrogance.

  Maybe both.

  And then there's Cyrene. I hadn't heard a single update since the message came through Elena.

  Unavailable until Monday.

  Unacceptable. But not my priority tonight.

  I changed into a black tee and drawstring pants. Walked to the edge of the living room, poured another glass of wine—this one slower, deeper. I took it to the bedroom with me. No lights. Just the city's reflection cutting against the glass walls.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, stared out.

  Dante had spoken too little. Arlo had spoken too carefully. Xander had said nothing. Elena's poker face never cracked, but her eyes did something when I said "I have suspicions."

  I knew how they operated under pressure. I'd built them that way. But the cracks were starting to show.

  Shade would follow their movements. Cyrene would track the rest.

  And I—

  I had to keep this empire from bleeding.

  I leaned back against the mattress, wine still in hand. There were no soft thoughts tonight. No indulgence.

  Just facts.

  If I didn't find the leak soon, SteelWorks wouldn't just suffer. It would buckle.

  And I don't build things that buckle.

  I took a sip, set the glass on the nightstand, and stared at the ceiling.

  Sleep would come. Or it wouldn't.

  Either way, the fire wouldn't stop burning.

  _____________

  I woke before the alarm. Five-thirty sharp.

  The city was still gray outside, glass towers soaked in the dull light of a sky not yet decided on dawn or rain. I didn't waste time. The moment I sat up, the weight of the day fell clean onto my shoulders.

  Shower. Cold. Brief. I needed clarity, not comfort.

  I dressed in silence. Charcoal suit. Thin black tie. Shoes that said more than any meeting ever could. My watch clicked into place as I scanned the morning brief waiting on my phone—updates on the Riyadh expansion, another stalled contract in Zurich, and two quiet nudges from my publicist about an upcoming interview I had no intention of sitting for.

  In the kitchen, I drank my coffee black, standing.

  No appetite.

  I left the house by 6:15.

  Traffic bent for me like it always did. I didn't check messages. Didn't scroll. I went through the day's calendar instead—four meetings before noon, all demanding attention. None optional.

  By the time I stepped into SteelWorks' main tower, my team was already in motion. Elena met me at the elevator with a folder. No words. She knew the mood.

  By 10 a.m., I'd been in three consecutive reviews. Logistics, finance, then a one-on-one with the legal team about a buried clause in our Baltic contract that could cost us ten million if left untouched.

  I fixed it in five minutes.

  The mole situation still simmered in the back of my mind, but today wasn't for that.

  Today, I needed to bring fire to another battlefield.

  Darien Vale.

  A cabinet minister with too much power and a habit of delaying my New York property approvals under the guise of public zoning. He was stalling, flexing leverage he didn't fully understand. But he'd crossed a line, and I didn't let things fester once they bled into my schedule.

  This wasn't something I'd solve alone.

  At precisely 11:47 a.m., I pulled out my phone.

  One message.

  To: Rafael, Xander, Arlo, Dante

  Subject: Minister Vale

  Meeting tonight. 21:00. My restaurant. Bring your clean version of the file and real solutions. No excuses.

  No greetings. No signatures.

  If Vale thought he could drag this into another month of polite exchanges and press leaks, he had no idea who he'd just locked horns with.

  This wasn't business. It was war, dressed in paperwork and public smiles.

  And tonight, I'd end the standoff.

  With fire, or with leverage. Either worked.

  _____________

  My day had been a blur. Meetings. Deadlines. Delays. I buried myself in work, but my mind never strayed far from the storm brewing on all fronts. I barely noticed the hours tick by as I handled demands and sorted out the necessary chaos. The morning passed in a haze of too many decisions, too many faces, all blurring together.

  But now, it was time to shift gears.

  I left the office, passing through the sleek corridors of Castellan Steelworks. The elevator ride down was quiet—too quiet. I didn't spare more than a glance at my phone before stepping out into the cool evening air.

  Back home. I didn't need much: a quick shower, a clean suit, and a final look at my messages. No room for distractions tonight. I needed to look sharp. I needed my focus. The game with Darien Vale was close to ending, but there was still the matter of the mole to clean up. And I'd be damned if either of those problems lingered.

  Once I was dressed and refreshed, I didn't hesitate. It was a short drive to the restaurant, where Rafael, Xander, Arlo, and Dante were already waiting. This wasn't just another dinner. It was the culmination of everything I'd been dealing with—today and tomorrow.

  As I walked into the dimly lit restaurant, the air was thick with anticipation. I barely acknowledged the staff as they greeted me, my eyes already scanning the room for my men. The table was set, but the tension hadn't gone anywhere. I could feel it, the weight of yesterday's warning hanging over everyone's heads. It was almost suffocating.

  Rafael was already seated, watching the room with that quiet intensity I've always trusted. Dante and Arlo were talking, voices low and clipped. Xander was already digging through something—a folder, of course. Always prepared.

  I took my seat at the head of the table, my gaze sweeping slowly across the room.

  "Let's get to it," I said, leaning forward. My voice sliced clean through the murmur of conversation.

  Xander didn't waste a second. He slid the folder across the table, pulling out a stack of documents. His eyes locked onto mine as he handed it over.

  "This is everything we've gathered on Minister Darien Vale," Xander said, calm and precise. "And it's a hell of a lot. Financials, contractor ties, offshore accounts. It's all here. Enough to make him fall in line. Starting with the hotel approval."

  I flipped through the pages, one after the other. Every document, every detail was another weapon in my hand. Darien Vale had more skeletons in his closet than I'd anticipated. Blackmail, corruption, under-the-table dealings with the very contractors blocking my project—everything I needed to crush his resistance.

  I let a slow smile curve across my lips, but my eyes stayed cold. This was exactly what I needed.

  I set the folder down and looked around the table. They were all watching me. Waiting.

  "Send it," I said. "Tonight. I want it in his inbox before he even has time to blink. We're done waiting."

  The order was clear. No one asked questions. Xander nodded, pulled out his phone, and sent it.

  Five minutes later, my phone rang.

  Darien Vale.

  I answered, calm and ready.

  "Minister Vale."

  "Castellan," he bit out, voice tight with fury. "You think you can pressure me like this?"

  I let the silence stretch, let him sit in the heat of it.

  "Not pressure, Minister," I replied smoothly. "Just a reminder of how small your options are right now. You've got two choices: bend, or face the consequences."

  I could hear his anger through the static, but there wasn't much room for maneuvering. The evidence spoke louder than any threat I could make.

  "You'll have your approval by tomorrow morning," he snapped, and hung up.

  I lowered the phone, smirked.

  One problem solved. One more to go.

  But the mole... that was a different kind of hunt.

  I glanced around the table again. The tension hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, it had deepened. Yesterday's warning still sat heavy in the air. No one said a word about it, but I could feel it pressing down on them. Good. They needed to feel it.

  I wasn't going to dwell on it here. I'd already set things in motion.

  Let the shadow do what it does best.

  Let CipherWorks run silent through their systems.

  For now, I reached for the whiskey that had made its way to the table, the glass cold in my hand. Light conversation bubbled up. Surface-level, meaningless. Everyone was trying too hard to seem casual.

  Except Xander. He was still glued to his phone, watching something with too much intent. Too much focus. The others were half-absorbed in their light conversation, sipping whiskey, but Xander's attention was fixed on his tablet. I could feel my curiosity rising, pulling my gaze to his screen.

  "What's got you so caught up?" I asked, voice steady but with a sharp edge.

  Xander didn't flinch. He never did, but the way his eyes flickered up, then back to the screen, told me I had his full attention now. "Just following up on something, Lucian," he said, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers kept scrolling with precision. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was chasing something.

  "Something interesting?" I pressed.

  He let out a low breath, then leaned back a little, still clutching the tablet. "Underground hacking competition. Some unknown hacker—goes by the name Maddison Carter. The last round was... impressive."

  I watched him for a beat, my mind snapping into focus. There was a lot about underground tech circles I usually let slide under the radar. But this? The fact that Xander was watching with this much intent, his usual detached mask slipping ever so slightly, piqued my interest. "Impressive?" I asked, leaning in. "In what way?"

  Xander didn't hesitate. "The Proxy Gauntlet. You've heard of it?" His voice was steady but he seemed almost eager to explain. "It's the most difficult challenge in the competition. Most hackers can't even get through the first couple of layers. But Carter—this Maddison—finished it in twenty-five minutes. A challenge that was supposed to last forty. Everyone thought she was just a ghost, but her speed? Precision? It's like she knew how to bend the system."

  I looked at the tablet. A flicker of something caught my eye, something in the way the hacker had handled a particular bypass in the challenge. I didn't need to know every detail to understand this wasn't a random player. This was someone dangerous. This was someone who didn't just break through barriers—they redefined them.

  I didn't give Xander a chance to keep going. "Where's this competition being held?" My voice was a little sharper now, as a realization hit me.

  Xander didn't even blink. "It's underground, but it's got a following. I don't know the exact location—there's always a level of secrecy. But I can find it." His fingers were already typing, scrolling through encrypted channels to pull up more data.

  I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching him work. He got like this when something really hooked him—dialed in, fast, mouth slightly parted like he was running a marathon without moving. I didn't speak. Just let him chase the scent.

  Then—barely five minutes in—he let out a low whistle. Not the casual kind. The what the actual hell kind.

  I tilted my head. "Talk."

  His eyes didn't leave the screen. "Edinburgh."

  That made me lean in.

  He glanced up, like even he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Lucian, whoever this Maddison Carter is... she's not just good. She's unreal. I've seen elite teams throw everything at these tournaments—proxy storms, layered firewalls, AI scramblers—and this girl cut through them like silk."

  I raised a brow. "And?"

  His grin widened, like he was telling me a ghost story he didn't quite believe. "She didn't just win. She owned them. You want to know how she took her payout?"

  "Do I look like I'm waiting for bedtime stories?" I murmured, leaning back with my glass.

  He smirked, eyes still gleaming. "She backdoored the host's holding account. Quiet. Surgical. While they were announcing her as the winner, she was already breaching their blockchain. Routed the crypto through five cold wallets, bounced it off a dark node out of Estonia, then funneled it into an encrypted BTC vault she'd prepped hours before the competition even started."

  I blinked once. That was precision. Pre-meditated, airtight, and elegant.

  "She didn't ask," Xander added with a grin. "She took it. No trace, no permission. Left them with a locked audit log and a timestamp they still haven't unraveled. Lucian, she wrote the rules, burned them, then made them thank her for the ash."

  A low laugh rumbled in my chest, more breath than sound. I brought the whiskey to my lips, that quiet smirk tugging through as the heat slid down.

  I didn't need to ask what she looked like. Didn't need the footage.

  I already knew.

  Only one person moved like that. Precise chaos. Clean exits. No permission, no apologies.

  Cyrene.

  She'd vanished on me for the weekend. Now I knew why.

  I took another slow sip, the pride flickering beneath the surface like coals catching flame. My girl. Pulling stunts halfway across the continent, leaving legends in her wake.