Page 44

The low vibration of the surveillance hub is a steady rhythm that keeps me grounded in the chaos.

I’ve been here for what feels like days, half-dead, eyes bloodshot, and muscles stiff from hours of staring at the screens.

My head is pounding, but I can’t stop. I’m running link analysis across five separate feeds.

The algorithm drones, monotonous and reliable, just like it’s supposed to.

I’m looking for answers by digging into places I didn’t want to look. But the more I uncover, the tighter the knot in my chest gets. One click. Another. This isn’t just a story anymore. This is a war, and I’m only now starting to see the battlefield.

The data on the screen keeps shifting and growing, as if it’s alive. The map of connections spreads out across the interface, tangled web after tangled web. And then… finally something new. A ping. A signal. Something shifts in the code.

MiraPath Strategies LLC.

It’s a name I don’t recognize. Not yet. But my fingers are already flying across the keyboard, tracing the digital threads and pulling them apart.

Then, Blackwell Trust . Evander Vane. Of course. Of fucking course.

I barely breathe, as if exhaling might unravel me.

I knew he was behind this, but seeing it in hard digital ink hits differently.

Evander has been playing the long game, using his power and money to twist this whole thing into a weapon.

A weapon aimed directly at Lyra. I can’t think of a single good reason why a father would orchestrate his own daughter’s downfall.

But I don’t even have to think about it because with just a few more keystrokes, I see the connections snap into place. Declan Pierce, the fucking trust-fund parasite.

I shake my head, muttering, “He didn’t just know. He bankrolled it.”

The screen flashes green again, and a new window opens.

I watch as the documents spill across my interface: projected ad budgets, influencer blacklists, and ghostwritten op-eds.

Everything points back to Evander. The connections are so tight, so undeniable, that I can almost feel the pressure building in my chest.

I knew they were manipulating her, but this is worse than I thought. This is orchestrated. The perfect storm of lies, power, and influence. Evander’s fingerprints are all over this. Declan’s too.

But I can’t just let this go. Not now. Not when I know the depth of the betrayal. I take a deep breath, and the next set of clicks echoes louder in my mind. I need to find them. All of them. I need to cut the strings and tear the network apart.

I can’t waste any more time. I need help. Fast.

I pull out my phone and speed-dial Noah’s number. It rings a few times before he picks up.

“Silas.” His voice is raspy, like he’s been up all night. The guy never sleeps. “What’s going on?”

“Noah,” I say, my tone clipped, “I’ve got something. I need you to dig deeper into this… MiraPath Strategies and Blackwell Trust. Evander’s fingerprints are all over it.”

There’s a pause, and I can almost hear him thinking and processing. “I’ve been following the connections,” he finally says. “But this… this is bigger than I thought. The Trust, Declan, Evander…” He pauses, a long sigh escaping him. “You’re sure about this?”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not about to waste time chasing shadows. I’ve got the receipts, Noah. This shit goes deep. Evander’s been pulling the strings the whole time.”

Noah lets out a sharp breath. “And Lyra?”

I feel anger and rage twist in my gut. “She’s been the fucking target the whole time,” I say, my voice deep and firm. “They used her and sold her out for profit. And I’m going to make sure they pay for it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, finally, he says, “Alright. I’ll reroute some of the intel from our end and get more on the Trust and MiraPath. It’s not just about Evander, though, Silas. We need to get eyes on Declan and the people around him. He’s more slippery than we thought.”

I’m not in the mood for playing games, so I say, “Just get it done. We don’t have much time.”

“You got it,” he replies. “And Silas...”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re thinking of doing something drastic, we need to plan this out. This isn’t just some PR stunt. It’s more than that. If we go in too fast, we risk losing everything.”

I grit my teeth, my hand squeezing the phone a little too hard. “I’m not backing down now. I’m taking them down, Noah. And if that means setting a fire to everything, then so be it.”

I hear the tension in his voice when he speaks again. “Just… don’t make it worse than it already is. We don’t know what all the players are capable of yet.”

“Don’t worry,” I murmur, already moving to check another screen. “I know what I’m doing.”

We end the call, and the room goes silent again, the whirring of the machines a constant companion as I go back to scanning the information.

The pieces are all falling into place, but I know there’s still more.

More lies and more players I haven’t seen yet in the shadows.

I’m not stopping until I’ve burned every last one of them to the ground.

Evander. Declan. Harper. They thought they could use Lyra as a pawn in their game.

Well, I’m going to show them just how wrong they were.

I shut down the system with a few keystrokes, the glow from the screens dimming slowly. I grab my jacket and walk to the door, setting my jaw. It’s time to make my next move.

XXX

The hallway outside Zara’s apartment feels like a damn waiting room for disaster.

My boots are silent on the carpet as I stand there and stare at her door like it’s the last thing standing between me and some ugly truths.

I don’t knock. I’m not here for pleasantries.

Neither am I here to hear her excuses or apologies.

I’m here to see where her loyalties really lie.

When she answers, she’s a mess. Her mascara is smudged, and the hoodie she’s wearing is way too big for her small frame.

I know the look well… it’s the one people get when they realize they’ve been playing in a game they don’t understand.

The only difference is that Zara is still trying to play catch-up while I’m standing at the edge of the cliff, ready to dive in.

She pauses, glancing at me like she’s trying to size me up, like I’m the one who’s dangerous here. Hell, I am dangerous. But she’s not wrong to be wary. “Is this about Harper?” she asks, her voice a little too defensive for my liking, like she’s already preparing herself for what’s coming.

I don’t waste time with small talk. “This is about Declan. And Evander.”

Her eyes widen, and she steps back like she’s afraid I’ll walk straight through her. Too bad I don’t need an invitation.

I brush past her without a word, my eyes already scanning the apartment.

Zara’s place is exactly what one would expect. It’s spotless, curated, and almost cold. It’s clean lines and sleek furniture, with everything in its right place. There’s no clutter or mess. No signs of life, really, just a sterile, controlled calm that feels less like peace and more like absence.

But something’s missing. And it’s not just throw pillows or wall art. It’s the feel of the place… like no one really lives here. Like it’s merely a stage set waiting for someone who never shows up.

There’s no laughter, no warmth, no mess, no people.

And for the first time, I feel sorry for someone rich.

From her files, I know she’s not like Lyra. She’s not the kind of person who walks into a room and pulls gravity with her. No one worships Zara from afar. She doesn’t collect admirers or command attention. Her world is small. Intentionally, maybe. But still… small.

Her only real friend is Lyra, who isn’t speaking to her right now. Her father died when she was young, and her mother, detached and neglectful, lives halfway across the country and barely picks up the phone.

Zara’s built her life like this apartment—minimal, contained, and protected from harm. But also, unfortunately, protected from connection.

And tonight, I can feel it in the walls. She’s completely alone.

I set a printed document on her counter, one of the many pieces of the puzzle that I’ve pieced together. “You need to provide information about Declan and anyone who’s been around you. Your friends… the ones you trust. It’s for Lyra’s protection.”

Zara glances at the paper and then back at me, her hands trembling slightly. “You think Evander would…?” Her voice cracks, disbelief washing over her face.

I lean in a little closer, watching her carefully and studying her reactions like I’m analyzing a target.

“He didn’t pull the trigger,” I say, my voice unsympathetic. “He loaded the gun. And Declan has been aiming it at Lyra from the start. You’re just too close to see it.”

The bitterness in her laugh is like acid. “You think Lyra will believe this?”

I pause. I could tell her the truth, but it’s not my job. “She doesn’t need to believe it yet,” I say in a low voice. “But you do.”

Zara looks down at the paper. She swallows hard, her fingers curling around the edges like she wants to rip it up. But she’s not stupid. She knows the game. And she can’t just ignore this. Nobody can.

She inhales shakily, rubbing her forehead, then sits down on the couch. The immensity of the situation is pressing down on her, and I can see it. I can see the way she’s falling apart, piece by piece. She’s trying to hold it together, but there’s nothing left of her facade.

“I slept with Declan,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. It’s so quiet that I almost miss it.

Her eyes stay fixed on the floor, but I see the way her hands tremble and how her throat tightens around the next words.

“It was… stupid. A party. I’d had too much to drink, and I was already feeling like shit about everything. Lyra’s been shutting me out, and with the podcast going nowhere and the silence in my apartment getting too loud…”