Ellery POV:
A layer of cold sweat instantly broke out across my spine, sticking my shirt to my skin.
I didn't immediately touch the keyboard. Instead, I lifted the coffee mug to my lips and took a slow sip. The liquid was freezing, but the swallowing motion perfectly hid the nervous spasm in my throat.
I set the mug down with a soft clink.
"The network is lagging," I said, keeping my tone perfectly even. "The routing through Zurich takes a minute to ping back. Give me two minutes."
Brendan let out an irritated sigh. He tugged at his collar again and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a solid gold cigar case.
He clipped the end and lit the thick cigar. The heavy, pungent smell of expensive tobacco quickly flooded the room, thankfully overpowering the nauseating stench of Kiya’s perfume.
While he blew a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, my hands flew to work.
I rapidly opened a hidden sandbox environment on the secondary monitor.
Using intercepted historical data packets from last week, I frantically coded a mirrored front-end interface. It was a digital illusion.
Line after line of fake transaction logs materialized under my fingertips. I stitched the fake UI together flawlessly.
I routed the actual destruction process of *Tabula Rasa* deeper into the root logs, burying it where no casual audit could ever find it.
I hit the enter key one last time. A perfect, pristine replica of the Swiss bank portal popped onto the main screen.
The balance showed exactly fifty million dollars, safe and sound. I even added a fabricated line of incoming interest to make it look active.
I grabbed the edge of the monitor and angled it fifteen degrees toward Brendan.
He blew out another ring of smoke, his sharp eyes scanning the long string of zeroes on the screen.
A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest. The dangerous tension bleeding off him completely vanished.
He stood up, walking over to stand right beside my chair. He planted his hand on the desk, leaning his weight onto it, the cigar smoking between his fingers.
He leaned down and pressed his lips against my forehead. The kiss tasted like ash and ownership.
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting with everything I had to hide the violent wave of disgust threatening to break my composure.
His free hand stroked my hair. "You really are the most perfect, obedient machine I own, El."
The word *machine* sliced through my chest like a rusted blade.
He turned toward the stairs. "Don't wait up for me tonight. I have business to handle."
I sat perfectly still, watching his broad back disappear up the spiral staircase. The heavy steel doors hissed shut behind him, locking into place with a definitive thud.
The second the lock engaged, I threw myself out of the chair and scrambled to the metal trash can in the corner.
I hit my knees and dry heaved violently. The cold coffee and burning stomach acid rushed up my throat as I retched into the bin.
I grabbed a rough paper towel from the dispenser and scrubbed at my forehead. I scrubbed exactly where his lips had touched, pressing so hard my skin burned fiery red.
Just as I caught my breath, the screen of my encrypted secondary phone lit up on the desk.
I stood up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and walked over. It was an MMS message from an unknown number.
I tapped the screen. A high-definition ultrasound photo filled the display.
In the bottom right corner, printed in stark white letters, was Kiya’s name and today’s date.
A text message popped up right beneath the shadowy image of the embryo.
*He has an heir now, you barren trash.*
I stared at the black and white scan. My chest didn't heave. No tears blurred my vision. There was only absolute, freezing clarity.
"Barren trash? I'll show you how trash brings down the whole building."
