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Yesterday.

Separately, they look harmless. Together, they’re a progression.

The first one barely touched the perimeter. The second probed for weak points. The third found one. The fourth nearly got through.

Tonight, someone crossed three layers of a security system I personally designed.

The auction, the servers, the surgical precision of every target chosen. This isn't opportunistic. Someone has been patient, and patient people are the most dangerous kind.

“What was the point of origin?”

Sergio hesitates, and I know before he answers that I’m not going to like it. “Inside the building.”

Silence.

“Where?”

“There isn’t an exact location. We only know the strike came from above the twelfth floor.”

Which narrows the list considerably.

The launch is closing in, and someone in my own company is either compromised or working against me. “You're certain."

"We've verified it twice."

My phone buzzes against my palm, and I look down to find a message from Elias.

It's a picture of Sloane asleep in his bed, her black hair spilling across the pillow in loose, tousled waves. Her deep brown skin looks impossibly smooth against the cream sheets, one bare shoulder peeking above the covers. Long lashes rest against the fullness of her cheeks, and her plump lips are slightly parted, soft and inviting even in sleep.

She's beautiful like this, without the sharp tongue or stubborn glare she usually has ready for us. Just our girl, warm and peaceful, curled up in a bed where she knows she's safe.

She’s safe.

My gaze returns to the monitors, but I no longer see the ballroom. I’m seeing faces now, running through everyone with the access and audacity to make a move like this.

“Nothing leaves this room. Not the board. Not executive staff. No one gets told anything unless I approve it personally.”

Sergio nods once. "And legal?"

"Internal counsel. That's it."

He doesn't push. He knows better.

My eyes return to the access log as a possibility takes shape, and I hate it immediately.

Sloane onstage.

Every eye in the ballroom turned toward her. My attention exactly where they wanted it, while someone inside SOLAÉ went for the servers.

Correlation is not proof. But I stopped believing in coincidence a long time ago.

I built everything in this place to be untouchable.

I didn’t account for wanting something I couldn’t afford to lose, and now someone knows exactly where to aim.

thirty-five

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