Page 6 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

VIVIENNE

T he studio was quiet when I slipped through the back door the next morning, my sneakers squeaking faintly on the scuffed Marley floor.

The sun wasn’t even properly up yet, just a watery smudge over the harbor, but I’d already showered, wrangled my curls into a messy bun, and thrown on leggings and a hoodie.

All because of a man I barely knew.

Pathetic.

And yet, there I was—early for once, heart beating a little too fast as I hunted for Teresa.

I found her exactly where I figured she’d be: hunched behind her battered desk in the Crescent Ballet office, nursing a coffee the size of her head and scowling at a spreadsheet like it had personally offended her.

“Morning, sunshine,” I chirped, letting the door swing shut behind me.

She jumped like I’d fired a gun, nearly sloshing coffee on her keyboard.

“Jesus, Vivi! You trying to kill me?”

“Not today.” I plopped into the chair across from her, draping my arms over the sides. “I come bearing questions.”

Teresa narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Questions usually mean trouble.”

“Probably.” I flashed her a grin. “I want the dirt on Elias.”

She froze, her hand halfway to her coffee mug.

A beat.

Two.

Then she exhaled like I’d asked for her social security number and firstborn child.

“Really?” she muttered.

I leaned forward eagerly. “So? What’s the story?”

Teresa rubbed her temples, her fingers leaving little red marks.

“We dated. Briefly. Years ago.”

She said it like she was confessing to a crime she didn’t even regret.

My eyebrows shot up. “Wait, seriously? You and Elias?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I used to be fun once.”

She took a long sip of coffee, grimacing.

“But no. It was ... awful. Like dating my brother. Zero chemistry. We fought about everything. Plus, he was already married to his laptop.”

I laughed. “So not a thing anymore?”

“God, no,” she said emphatically. “We’re barely friends. We tolerate each other because we’re both stubborn jackasses who hate unfinished business.”

I grinned wider. “Good to know.”

Teresa narrowed her eyes at me, suspicion darkening her expression.

“Not that it matters. Good luck getting that man out from behind a screen long enough to notice anyone. Elias doesn’t date. He obsesses over code, computers, encryption. Real romantic.”

My heart gave an annoying little skip, which I immediately ignored.

“Maybe he just hasn’t met the right problem yet,” I said innocently.

Teresa gave me a look. “You’re going to break him. Or he’s going to break you. Either way, I want front row seats.”

I was about to push her for more when the front door banged open, the morning breeze whooshing in ahead of Lena and Marisol.

Both looked disgustingly fresh and chipper for seven a.m., their hair slicked back into neat ballet buns, dance bags slung over their shoulders.

Lena spotted me first and made a beeline, dropping her bag with a thud.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the adrenaline junkie herself,” she teased. “What mischief did you get into last night, Vivi?”

Marisol plopped into the chair beside me, swinging her legs like a kid.

“Let me guess. Wrestling gators?”

I laughed, holding up my hands in mock surrender.

“Nothing too crazy. Jessa and I went kayaking.”

Lena groaned. “In the harbor? At night?”

“Is there another way?” I deadpanned.

Marisol shook her head like I was a hopeless case.

“You’re going to get eaten by a bull shark one day and we’re all going to have to perform a tribute show in your honor.”

“Speaking of performing,” Lena added, pulling a water bottle from her bag, “don’t forget we have that thing this weekend.”

It wasn’t a full production—thank God.

In the summer, the Crescent Ballet kept things lighter, hosting smaller events to keep donors happy and the community engaged.

This weekend’s gig was one of those: a private matinee for a group of major patrons and their families, held at the old Dock Street Theatre downtown.

Air-conditioned, elegant, and about two hundred seats max.

Low pressure compared to the brutal winter season, but still important.

The program was a sampler—a few classical pieces, a modern number or two, and a closing ensemble we’d been hammering out all month.

Polished but not perfect. Designed to look effortless, charming, accessible. A soft pitch for fundraising in the fall.

Normally, I didn’t mind these things.

Performing for moneyed donors meant smiling until your face hurt and clapping politely at awkward standing ovations, but it also meant staying visible, staying wanted.

In a small ballet company, that was survival.

There was always some fresh-faced prodigy coming up the ranks, some new girl with longer lines and better feet.

You didn’t stay relevant by coasting.

You stayed relevant by showing up, dazzling, and making damn sure your name stuck in the right people’s heads.

And while nobody said it out loud, we all knew: One wrong move, one poorly timed injury, one slip in the wrong donor’s eye, and you could be out by fall.

Still.

None of that meant I planned to spend my days acting like I was ninety and breakable.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” I said, twirling a piece of hair around my finger. “Which is why I’m asking—what are we doing after rehearsal today?”

Both of them froze.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Marisol said slowly.

“I was thinking,” I said innocently, “that we could go do something fun. Paddleboarding in Shem Creek? Jet skiing off Isle of Palms? Maybe find a sketchy place that’ll let us parasail without signing too many waivers?”

Lena dropped her face into her hands. “You need help.”

“Serious help,” Marisol agreed.

They exchanged a look—the same look they gave each other when one of Madame Odette’s lectures got especially unhinged.

“We love you, Vivi,” Lena said firmly, “but we actually want to have ballet careers.”

“Yeah,” Marisol added. “Preferably with all our limbs still attached.”

I pouted. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“We left it in preschool,” Lena said dryly. “Right around the time we realized broken ankles don’t look good in a tutu.”

I sighed dramatically, slumping in my chair.

“Fine. Jessa it is.”

“Jessa’s just as crazy as you,” Marisol muttered under her breath.

“Exactly.” I grinned. “She understands me.”

Teresa snorted from behind her coffee mug.

“God, help us all,” she said.

I smiled wider, feeling a familiar itch under my skin—the need to move, to leap, to fall.

Tonight, after rehearsal, I’d find something wild enough to scratch it.

And maybe—if fate was feeling generous—I'd find a certain Viking hacker still brooding around the edges of my world. Just close enough to catch. Or to catch me.

Either way, I wasn’t planning on playing it safe.

Not now.

Not ever.

Lena’s phone buzzed, and she and Marisol gathered their bags, chattering about rehearsal schedules and costume fittings as they disappeared down the hall.

The second the door swung shut behind them, I swiveled back toward Teresa, my curiosity practically vibrating out of my skin.

“Okay,” I said, dropping my voice. “Now that it’s just us—tell me more.”

Teresa gave me a long, suffering look over the rim of her coffee mug.

“About what?”

I leaned forward, planting my elbows on her cluttered desk.

“I saw Elias last night. At Dominion Hall.”

Teresa stiffened, just a tiny flicker of tension across her shoulders, but I caught it.

“So,” I pressed, “is he …?”

I trailed off, letting the question hang.

Teresa sighed heavily, setting her mug down with a clunk.

“Yes. He’s a Dane.”

I blinked.

“That’s ... bad?”

“That’s complicated,” she corrected grimly. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“Dominion Hall isn’t just some rich boys’ clubhouse, Vivi.

It’s a fortress. Built by the Dane brothers after they came back from the military—special ops, black ops, whatever you want to call it.

Nobody really knows what all they did overseas, but whatever it was?

It stuck. They run a business now, a legit one, probably, but .

..” She trailed off, her expression pinched.

“But what?”

Teresa hesitated like she was weighing how much she could say without getting struck by lightning.

“They’re dangerous men, Vivi. Not just in the ‘ooh, bad boy with a motorcycle’ way. Real dangerous. Connections, power, money, the kind of loyalty that gets people buried when they step out of line.”

I felt a thrill shiver through me, and not the smart kind.

“So Elias isn’t just some hacker who fixes office computers on the side?”

Teresa snorted. “No. He’s the guy who could crash the city's infrastructure if he wanted to. Elias likes to stay out of the public eye, but make no mistake—he's just as brutal as the others when it comes to protecting what's his.”

The weight of her words settled between us, heavy and real.

I twirled a loose curl around my finger, trying to look casual even though my heart was pounding a little harder.

“So you’re saying I should stay far, far away.”

Teresa’s gaze sharpened, cutting through the bravado I was barely holding together.

“I’m saying don’t get mixed up in things you don’t understand. And don’t expect him to play by rules you’re used to.”

For a long moment, we just stared at each other—the office humming quietly around us, the sound of distant piano scales bleeding through the studio walls.

Finally, I shrugged, pushing up from the chair.

“Good talk,” I said lightly, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

Teresa groaned, scrubbing a hand down her face.

“You’re going to do something reckless, aren’t you?”

I shot her a wicked smile over my shoulder.

“Probably.”

I wandered back into the empty studio, the rubber soles of my sneakers whispering across the floor. The morning sun was inching higher now, throwing long beams through the high windows, catching dust motes in golden streams.

I sank down onto the worn bench along the wall, stretching my legs out, and let my head fall back against the mirror.

How exactly did a girl get the attention of a man who lived behind a dozen screens and a hundred walls? Not with polite conversation, that was for damn sure.

He wasn’t the type to be impressed by small talk or batting my lashes across a dinner table. Elias Dane was a man who understood adrenaline. Who respected danger.

Maybe not in the same way I chased it—but he knew the stakes. He just hid from them. Maybe what he needed wasn’t a gentle knock at the door. Maybe he needed the door kicked in.

I smiled slowly, tapping the back of my head against the mirror in a lazy rhythm.

If I wanted him to look away from his precious screens, I’d have to become more interesting than the codes he obsessed over. More unpredictable than the firewalls he built.

Lucky for him, unpredictability was my specialty.

A hundred ideas sparked in my mind.

Some stupid. Some reckless. Some ... delicious.

I could show up wherever he was working, poke at him until that cool mask cracked again.

I could make him chase me the way he clearly didn’t want to.

Or—

I could push harder. Make him have to come find me.

The memory of last night—the fury in his voice, the way his body had tensed like he was ready to dive straight into the harbor after me—sent a shiver racing down my spine.

Elias Dane liked control.

He wasn’t going to give it up.

I was going to make him lose it.

On purpose.

And I was going to enjoy every second of the fall.