Page 6

What I needed was time—time to build this sanctuary, study Kira, and ensure every variable was accounted for.

I swipe to another screen showing my property—five acres of densely wooded land with a custom-built house that appears modest outside but extends three levels underground. The basement levels don’t exist on any building plans. The room I’ve prepared for her sits ready, designed to mirror her bedroom with subtle improvements. It has the same purple LED lights, the same gaming setup, only better, and even her favorite snacks stocked in the mini-fridge.

The construction took eight months, employing separate crews for different phases so no single contractor knew the full scope. Paying a triple rate ensured no questions were asked. The surveillance systems alone cost more than most people’s homes—$1.3 million in proprietary tech, some of it “borrowed” from KentSec’s government prototypes.

My phone buzzes again. A direct message from Kira.

“Hey Rogue, you never answered about GamerCon. Are you going this year? We could finally meet IRL!”

I smile at my screen, eager and trusting. I type back carefully: “Work’s crazy right now. I’m not sure I can swing it. Let’s talk about it later?”

Another deflection. Another small disappointment I have to cause my girl. Temporary pain for permanent pleasure.

I turn to the wall where I’ve mapped out every detail of the convention center, including staff rotations, security camera positions, and the exact route from her hotel to the main hall. Two weeks from now, everything changes.

I’ve had eyes inside GamerCon’s planning committee for fourteen months. One of my shell companies is a major sponsor, giving me access to staff lists, security protocols, and facility blueprints. The $250,000 “donation” to the convention’s charity partner bought me a seat on their advisory board, allowing me to suggest certain security measures—all designed with specific vulnerabilities I could exploit.

I pull up my favorite folder on my encrypted hard drive. “Kira Ellis—Timeline.” Twenty-four months of data, meticulously organized. Her daily routines have been mapped with military precision. Her menstrual cycle tracked like clockwork. Her entire digital footprint is cataloged and analyzed.

Maintaining dual lives hasn’t been easy. By day, I’m Ryker Kent, the reclusive tech genius whose rare public appearances make headlines in the business world. My executive team handles most client interactions, allowing me to disappear for days without raising eyebrows. “Mr. Kent is working on a new security protocol” has become corporate shorthand for “don’t ask questions.” The eighty-hour weeks I put in during KentSec’s early days bought me the freedom to vanish now.

Three personal assistants manage my public life, none with access to my private calendar. My board of directors knows better than to question my methods, not when our stock price has tripled in eighteen months. The beauty of being a billionaire is that eccentricity becomes an expected trait rather than a red flag.

I scroll through screenshots of her private messages to Jenna. “I don’t know what it is about Rogue, but there’s something so... safe about him?”

Safe. I laugh. If only Kira knew the lengths I’ve gone to know every inch of her life.

I tab over to the 3D rendering of the convention center, toggling between layers showing electrical systems, security protocols, and staff schedules. I’ve already secured employment for two of my aliases at GamerCon—one working security, the other handling tech in the main hall.

Creating these identities cost $75,000 and involved soliciting favors from contacts in the web’s darkest corners. The background checks were thorough, but nothing compared to what KentSec provides for government contractors. Ironically, my company’s security protocols would have flagged these identities as suspicious—the ultimate insider threat.

The sedative doses are exact for her body weight—76.4 kilograms, as of last Tuesday’s doctor’s appointment. The half-life is timed so she’ll wake disoriented but unharmed in the room I’ve prepared. The observation suite connects through a two-way mirror, allowing me to monitor her adjustment phase.

I open another file containing furniture receipts. Everything in her future space matches her current bedroom, down to the thread count of her sheets. I’ve even recreated the view from her window—a digital screen programmed with the exact pattern of sunlight that streams through her east-facing apartment.

The replica bedroom alone cost $430,000. Custom furniture was built to match her IKEA originals but with higher-quality materials. Specialized lighting mimics her apartment’s exact color temperature, and the digital window system costs more than most luxury cars.

I touch the screen where her face smiles from a selfie she never posted publicly. The practice dummies helped me learn the restraint system—comfortable enough to prevent tissue damage but secure enough to withstand her inevitable initial resistance.

“It’s not kidnapping,” I reason. “It’s rescue.”

I’ve seen her cry alone at night, scroll through dating apps without matching, and confess her loneliness to her reflection. I’ve spent two years as an observer of her life through cameras hidden in smoke detectors and everyday objects, knowing her better than she knows herself.

My company’s board would throw me under the bus if they knew how their CEO spent his private hours. The man whose security systems protect nuclear facilities and presidential communications, using his expertise to monitor a woman who streams games at night.

In two weeks, none of that will matter. My COO is prepared for my extended absence—a “medical retreat” in Switzerland, complete with NDA-bound staff who’ll maintain the illusion through scheduled emails and occasional video calls using deepfake technology. After all, reality is overrated.

GamerCon is where Kira’s loneliness ends, and our real story begins.

4

KIRA

Ilean forward in my gaming chair, fingers tightening around my controller as Ghost’s character model creeps around the corner on my screen. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my veins—this is what I live for.

“Got movement behind you,”Rogue’sdeep voice comes through my headset. His West Coast accent still catches me off guard sometimes, even after gaming together for two years.

“Thanks for the heads up.” I spin Ghost around, catching the enemy player trying to sneak up behind me. Two quick bursts from my rifle, and they drop. “That’s what you get for thinking you can sneak up onMistressOfMischief.”