Page 79

No texts. No email. Too traceable. But Ghost?

Ghost was the one thread I trusted.

I downloaded and opened a hidden messaging client and logged in using the alias he built for me—the one I’d used for years, the one that had never once been compromised.

Me: Confirm channel is clear. You there?

The screen stayed quiet.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then—

Ghost: Took you long enough, princess. You good?

I stared at the blinking cursor, fingers poised.

Me: I need out. Full ghost. One shot. No trace. Disappear for six months minimum.

Ghost’s response came fast. He was always better at this than anyone should have been. Like he’d been born in the firewall, like code was just another language he could use to bend the world to his will.

Ghost: Location?

Me: Boston. High security penthouse. Full surveillance grid. Manual guard rotation. Biometric locks. Main threat is personal, not structural.

Ghost: Who has you?

I hesitated before I typed the next line.

Me: It’s Nikolai Morozov.

He didn’t respond for a full minute.

Finally, the three dots started bouncing and then he responded.

Ghost: Jesus. You don’t do anything halfway, do you?

I leaned back in the chair and smirked. Just a little.

Me: Never have.

Ghost: You got windows?

Me: Maybe. There’s a blind spot on the northwest stairwell. Freight elevator. I think it runs on a separate system. His brothers control most of the building’s tech, but that wing feels older. Less integrated.

Ghost: You got wheels?

Me: No. Not yet.

Ghost: I can have a car three blocks out. No closer. Facial recognition’s too tight in that district. You’ll have to get to it on your own. Time it just right. You’ll get one window. Ten minutes. Tops.

I stared at the screen. Ten minutes. One shot. I could do that.

If I stayed there, I wouldn’t just become Nikolai’s bride. I’d become hispossession.I’d stop being Sloane Kingsley and startbeing some rebranded, repackaged version of myself that fit neatly into his kingdom. Polished. Obedient.

Kept.