The grand dining hall of Lucian Vale's penthouse was an architectural marvel—all glass walls overlooking the Manhattan skyline, bathed in the golden hues of morning light. The massive obsidian dining table gleamed under the crystal chandelier, reflecting the richness of their breakfast spread—steaming black coffee, fresh fruits, eggs, and prime cuts of steak. The scent of aged leather and expensive cologne lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of roasted beans.
At the head of the table, Lucian Vale sat with an air of absolute authority, his presence effortless yet suffocating. Dressed in a tailored dark navy suit, the fabric sculpted to perfection over his broad shoulders and chiselled torso, he exuded control in every movement. His crisp white shirt was open at the collar, a subtle rebellion against the constraints of perfection, yet his polished cuff links glinted under the light—a reminder that he never left anything undone. His silver watch, worth more than most made in a year, rested against his wrist, ticking in quiet precision.
Across from him, Logan Briggs was the complete opposite—rugged, brutal, and utterly unpolished. His black Henley shirt clung to his muscular frame, his arms inked with faded scars from years in the field. A leather holster was barely concealed beneath his dark blazer, a silent warning that he was more than just a gym trainer. Logan wasn't just there to ensure Lucian stayed in peak physical form—he was his shadow, his enforcer, the man who took care of problems before they even became problems.
To the right, Nina Hayes sat poised, the epitome of professional elegance. A deep burgundy blouse tucked neatly into a fitted black pencil skirt, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her fingers, adorned with rings that were delicate but never excessive, glided effortlessly over the tablet resting on her lap.
She hesitated.
Not a hesitation of fear—she knew better than to be afraid of Lucian—but a moment of calculation, of choosing the right words.
"Sir," she finally spoke, her voice smooth but measured. "A woman named Celeste Carter has applied for a position in the finance department. Twenty-eight. Degree in economics. No criminal record. But…" she exhaled softly, her gaze flicking up to meet Lucian's, "she is close to our enemy."
The words settled over the room like a storm cloud.
Lucian didn't react at first. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping against the fine china in a rhythmic, almost calculated motion. His gaze was unreadable, his mind already spinning through possibilities, strategies, and consequences.
Then, in a voice that was almost too calm, too controlled—"Forward her resume to me. With her photographs."
Logan, who had been cutting into his steak with the same precision he used to dismantle enemies, let out a low chuckle, the kind that sent chills down spines. "This just got interesting."
Lucian didn't acknowledge him, his attention fully on Nina.
"Keep an eye on her. Logan, I want every single detail—where she lives, where she works, who she speaks to. I want to know exactly how close she is to our enemy."
Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned forward, his voice dropping into something dark and guttural.
"Perfect. Give me five minutes alone with her. I'll break her down, rip every secret out of her, and by the time I'm done, she'll be begging to hand that bitch over."
The sound of Lucian setting down his cup was deafening in the silence.
His jaw clenched. His fingers tightened. And then he turned his head ever so slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto Logan's with lethal sharpness.
"We're not animals, Logan." His voice was like a blade—cold, precise, deadly. "Not yet."
Logan held his gaze for a moment, then smirked. "You always did love playing the long game."
Lucian didn't smile back. Instead, he turned to Nina.
"Go through Celeste Carter's social media. Every post, every comment, every connection. If she's close to our enemy, she's our lead. Find out everything."
Nina nodded, already tapping away. "Understood, sir."
Logan exhaled, leaning back in his chair, his smirk deepening. "And when she does lead us to her? Then what?"
Lucian's grip tightened around the coffee cup.
His gaze flickered toward the city skyline, where the world was still blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to unfold.
"Then," he murmured, his voice like a promise, a prophecy— "we bring her home."