Eliza Christian POV:
The sedan wound its way up the manicured slopes of Briarwood Heights, passing through automated security checkpoints before pulling into the circular driveway of an imposing neoclassical villa.
The double wrought-iron gates slid open. Before the driver could even step out, the front door of the mansion flew open, and Stephen Hudson hurried down the marble steps. He was smoothing the lapels of his tailored suit, his forehead damp with a fine sheen of nervous sweat.
"Miss Eliza! Master Esequiel!" Stephen arrived at the car door, bowing with an intensity that bordered on reverence. He reached out with both hands to take my battered duffel bag. "You have traveled far. Please, allow me to carry these inside for you."
"There is no need, Mr. Hudson," I replied, smoothly shifting the strap onto my shoulder and stepping past him. My tone was flat, devoid of any warmth.
Stephen’s hands froze awkwardly in mid-air. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but he recovered instantly, his smile deepening into a posture of complete subservience. "Of course. Whatever you prefer. The household staff has prepared the west wing according to your strict privacy requirements."
Behind me, Esequiel muttered under his breath, "He's terrified of you, Sis."
"Because he knows that the neuro-blocker I developed is the only thing keeping his spinal cord from collapsing," I murmured back, barely moving my lips.
We crossed the threshold into the expansive foyer. Standing at the top of the short marble staircase was Sharon Hudson, draped in an emerald silk blouse, diamond studs, and a stack of gold Cartier bangles.
Her eyes swept over my frayed hoodie, my unbranded boots, and Esequiel’s worn sneakers. The disdain in her gaze was sharp enough to cut glass, barely concealed behind a thin, brittle smile.
"Stephen, dear," Sharon said, her voice dripping with chilly condescension. She didn't move an inch down the stairs. "Are these the... distant relatives you insisted on boarding? I do hope our modest estate meets your standards, Miss Christian. We aren't accustomed to hosting guests from rural backgrounds."
I paused at the base of the stairs, tilting my head up. I offered no polite greeting, no deferential bow—only an icy, unblinking stare that stripped away her social armor.
Sharon’s manicured smile twitched. An uneasy shiver visibly ran through her posture under the weight of my silence.
Beside me, Esequiel didn't even grant her a glance, keeping his eyes locked straight ahead as if she were an inanimate piece of furniture.
The atmosphere in the grand foyer froze solid.
Stephen broke into a cold sweat and cleared his throat loudly. "Maria! Escort Miss Eliza and Master Esequiel to the executive suites on the second floor immediately! See that their luggage is handled with the utmost care!"
A housekeeper stepped forward quickly, bowing low. "This way, please, Miss."
Our quarters occupied the private end of the second floor—two vast, interconnected suites complete with a private balcony, soundproofed walls, and high-speed fiber routing.
The moment Maria bowed and closed the heavy oak door, Esequiel tossed his backpack onto the sofa, retrieved an ultra-thin tactical tablet, and flopped onto the carpet.
"That woman's arrogance is irritating," Esequiel remarked, his small fingers already tapping out high-level decryption scripts. "Her private trust fund is linked to a poorly secured Cayman Islands bank. Want me to zero her balance?"
"Leave her alone for now. Don't waste processing power on background noise," I said, setting my custom military-grade laptop onto the mahogany desk.
I plugged a black hardware drive into the port and accessed the mansion’s internal network. My fingers blurred across the mechanical keyboard, executing a customized Linux terminal script.
In less than twenty seconds, I dismantled the villa’s enterprise-grade firewall, bypassed the router's WPA3 encryption, and planted a silent, polymorphic rootkit directly into the central mainframe.
A stream of green telemetry data cascaded down the dual screens.
"Their perimeter defense is a joke," I noted calmly, leaning back in the executive leather chair. "Now, let's see what the global network has queued for us today."
