Page 34 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

VIVIENNE

T he sun poured through the tall windows like it had something to prove. I blinked against it, my head nestled into the crook of Elias’s shoulder, our bodies tangled beneath black sheets.

He was already awake, fingertips tracing patterns on my bare back. We hadn’t spoken yet. We didn’t need to. His touch was its own kind of morning prayer.

For a while, I just listened—to his steady breathing, to the seagulls beyond the glass, to the quiet that didn’t feel lonely anymore.

But then his voice broke the silence, rough from sleep. “You ever been to L.A.?”

I lifted my head. “What?”

His lips quirked. “Los Angeles. Ever been?”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, I always wanted to. But I figured I’d go when I had a movie to star in or a scandal to clean up.”

“Well, pack a bag,” he said. “We leave tonight.”

I blinked. “What?”

He sat up, stretching those absurdly perfect arms behind his head, like this was just a normal Tuesday. “I told you I had a surprise.”

“I thought that was the sex.”

He grinned. “That was a bonus.”

I wrapped the sheet around me, suddenly wide awake. “Elias, what’s in L.A.?”

His smile faded into something softer, more serious. “The men who scammed your mom.”

I froze. “What?”

“The ones who drained her account.” He leaned forward, cupping my face in his hands. “I found them, Red. Two of them, at least. They’ve resurfaced. Different names, same playbook. And they’re running their scam again, targeting a new crop of vulnerable families.”

My heart thudded against my ribs. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve combed through transaction histories, flagged email chains, and network metadata that nobody else bothered to follow. Because I’ve got contacts at a cybersecurity firm in Burbank who owed me favors. And because I know what it looks like when predators get comfortable.”

I stared at him, the reality of it settling over me like a weighted blanket. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he said.

I exhaled, slow and shaky. “Why?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this? Going all-in like this? You’ve already done more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Because I know you. And I know you’ll never stop craving adrenaline. You’ll always have fire in your veins. But this—this is a way to use that fire. To build something instead of burn everything down.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“You don’t have to choose between passion and purpose, Vivi,” he said. “We can chase both. Together.”

And just like that, the earth shifted beneath me.

Because he was right.

I couldn’t erase the years I’d spent dancing on rooftops and running from my past. I couldn’t pretend I’d ever be someone content to live quietly behind a picket fence. But for the first time, I saw a way to turn that energy into something useful. Something healing.

“I want to make them pay,” I whispered. “For what they did to her. And to every other family they’ve destroyed.”

Elias’s smile was fierce now. “Then let’s start with that.”

I felt the tears sting before I could stop them. “You’re not scared of who I am?”

“Not even a little,” he said. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve met my share of warriors.”

I curled into him then, the sheet forgotten, our skin bare and honest. “This changes everything,” I murmured.

“No,” he said, brushing a kiss against my temple. “This begins everything.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of packing and planning. Elias made calls while I scribbled down questions I wanted answers to. Flight manifests, aliases, old court records—we compiled it all.

But not before I saw my mom one more time.

We stopped by the facility that morning, the sky barely brightening, dew still clinging to the flowers outside her window. Her nurse met us in the hallway and said she’d had a calm night, that she’d woken humming and asking about gardenias.

When I walked into her room, she was sitting up in bed, wrapped in a soft throw, her eyes tracking the sunlight as it spilled across the pale blue walls. She looked so small, so fragile—but peaceful.

She didn’t remember who I was at first. Not until I sang the first line of “You Are My Sunshine.”

Her head tilted. Her lips parted. And then she whispered, “Vivi.”

That was all I needed.

I sat with her for a little while, brushing her hair the way I used to when I was little, letting the rhythm of it calm us both. We didn’t say much. We didn’t have to. She smiled, and I smiled back, and something unspoken passed between us.

When I kissed her goodbye, she reached for my face, her thumb brushing beneath my eye. “You’ve always been brave,” she said, her voice soft. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

My heart simultaneously shattered and healed all at once.

Emmaline hugged me tight before we left. She didn’t ask for details. Just kissed my cheek and whispered, “Go make it right.”

I carried that with me as I stepped onto Elias’s jet.

I wasn’t just leaving to chase down con men.

I was leaving to become the kind of daughter and sister my family believed I already was.

And as the jet lifted off that evening—Charleston falling away beneath us and Los Angeles drawing closer—I felt something stir in me.

Not just rage. Not just grief. But purpose.

And I knew, no matter what happened next, I wouldn’t run anymore.

I’d hunt.

With Elias beside me and justice in my blood, I was ready.

Let them come. Let the world tremble. We had work to do.

The jet leveled out above the clouds, the sky outside turning lavender with the approaching dusk.

Inside, the cabin lights dimmed to a golden hue, soft jazz playing beneath the hush of engines and altitude.

I sat curled on one of the leather club chairs, my knees tucked under me, sipping champagne from a flute I hadn't asked for but somehow still ended up with.

Elias sat across from me, a laptop open on the table between us, the screen displaying records, maps, threads of the lives we were about to unravel.

He looked up, caught me staring, and raised an eyebrow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

I smirked. “Depends. Are you thinking about becoming members of the mile-high club?”

His grin turned devilish. “I mean, it’s not not on my mind.”

I laughed and set the flute down, stretching my arms over my head. “Tempting. But I’m honestly too amped up to be distracted. I’ve got adrenaline surging like I’m about to leap off a rooftop again. I want to sink my teeth into this case. And then …” I trailed off, letting the sentence hang.

He leaned back, clearly entertained. “Then?”

“Then I’m going to give you a night to remember in L.A.,” I said, voice low and promising. “Maybe somewhere with a view. Outdoors. Possibly semi-public.”

Elias nearly choked on his drink. “Jesus, Red. You trying to kill me before we land?”

I shrugged, unbothered. “Just keeping things interesting.”

His gaze lingered on me a beat longer. “You always do.”

There was heat in the air between us now—banked, but undeniable. It pulsed like a second heartbeat.

I raised a brow, the corner of my mouth lifting. “So … should we talk logistics?”

Elias leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Of?”

I sipped my champagne slowly. “The outdoor sex. Semi-public. L.A.’s a big city. Lots of options.”

He grinned. “You want rooftop or beachfront?”

“Both have merit,” I mused, pretending to weigh pros and cons. “Rooftop has the skyline, the danger, the thrill of heights. Very on-brand.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “But beach has that whole moonlight-on-your-skin thing. Wet sand, crashing waves, you riding me while trying not to get caught …”

“God,” I muttered, my thighs clenching. “Why is that somehow hotter when you say it?”

“Because I mean it.”

I bit my lip. “We could start on a rooftop and end on the beach. A two-part experience.”

He smirked. “You know I’m going to be scouting locations the second we land, right?”

“I assumed you already had.”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” he said, voice low and promising. “There’s a private garden terrace at the top of a friend’s hotel in West Hollywood. Keycard access only. Panoramic views. No cameras.”

I inhaled sharply. “Add it to the list.”

“There’s also a waterfall trail in Topanga that no one hikes after dusk.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve really thought this through.”

He leaned closer, his hand drifting up my calf beneath the cashmere throw. “You inspire long-range planning.”

I laughed softly, drunk on the way he looked at me. “Just so we’re clear—this trip is about justice and vengeance.”

“Absolutely,” he said, his palm now resting warm on my thigh. “With occasional breaks for strategic field research.”

My heart beat faster, the tension between us winding tighter. “Strategic, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he said, his voice velvet and gravel and pure promise.

I didn’t. But I knew one thing for sure. Los Angeles was never going to see us coming.

I shifted in my seat, the mood softening as my thoughts turned inward. “You think I’ll ever go back to ballet?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I miss it, but I’m not sure I miss the politics, the perfection, the way it demands your entire identity. It’s like … ballet only ever wanted the version of me who didn’t screw up. Who didn’t fall. And that girl doesn’t exist anymore.”

Elias nodded slowly. “You know I can get your suspension lifted.”

I blinked. “What?”

He met my gaze evenly. “I’ve already spoken with someone on the board. Told them what happened. Told them what you’ve been through. They’re not heartless. They just needed someone to remind them how human greatness actually works.”

I swallowed hard. “And what if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “But I wanted you to have the choice. Not the shame.”

Emotion welled in my throat, thick and unexpected. I looked out the window, at the impossible stretch of sky, and tried to find the words.

“Thank you,” I whispered finally.

He rose then, walked the few steps between us, and knelt beside my chair. His hands came to rest on my thighs, his touch grounding.

“You don’t owe me anything, Vivi. I’m not here to fix you or direct you. I just want to walk beside you while you figure out who you want to be now.”

I leaned forward, brushing my lips against his.

“Then buckle up,” I whispered, my mouth ghosting his, “because this version of me? She’s not going to be tame.”

His smile was slow and certain. “Good. I didn’t fall in love with tame.”

Outside, the sky stretched on, endless and unyielding.

And we flew toward our next reckoning, hand in hand, fire in our blood.