The night in Nova Heights was cold, moonless, and far too quiet.
Inside the King Mansion, Christopher stood before the fireplace, its orange flames dancing against the shadows that crept across his face. He wasn't drinking tonight. Not after what he'd just discovered.
Mark's voice over the phone still echoed in his head.
> "Sir, I ran the digital sweep like you asked. Someone accessed KingTech's server at 9:47 PM — using suspended credentials."
Christopher's jaw tightened. "Whose?"
There was a pause. Then Mark said the name he already knew was coming.
> "Clara Bennett."
The glass he'd been holding cracked under his grip, shards glittering like frost.
He'd given her leniency — suspension instead of termination — thinking maybe guilt would teach her humility.
Clearly, mercy was wasted on snakes.
---
Across the city, Clara sat in her apartment, a half-empty bottle of wine beside her keyboard unknowing to her that her system was been tracked . Her eyes glowed with manic satisfaction as she uploaded another file into a secure, encrypted folder — "PROJECT REVELATION."
Elena's message was open on her phone screen:
> "Finish this transfer, and you'll have your job — and your freedom — back."
"Freedom," Clara whispered, her voice bitter. "You mean I'll be your puppet forever."
Still, her fingers didn't stop. The progress bar ticked forward — 78%, 92%...
Then her screen flickered.
A red warning flashed across the monitor: "Remote Access Override Detected."
Her breath hitched. "What the—"
The laptop camera light turned on by itself.
Then a familiar voice echoed from the speakers, low and lethal.
> "You really don't learn, do you, Clara?"
Her blood ran cold. "Chris—Christopher?"
> "You're not supposed to be on that system," he continued. "But you just couldn't help yourself. Tell me — was it worth it?"
Clara's shaking hands hovered over the keyboard. "I— I don't know what you're talking about—"
> "Don't insult me," he snapped. "You're transferring confidential designs to an external drive. Elena's drive."
Her heart stopped.
"How do you know—"
> "Because I put the tracker there myself."
For a moment, silence. Just her ragged breathing. Then — a knock on the door.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
Clara turned, panic flashing in her eyes. "You didn't—"
> "Open it," came his voice through the laptop.
When she did, Christopher King stood there in person — soaked from the rain, eyes burning like the storm behind him.
---
"You're trespassing," she stammered. "You can't just—"
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I own the company you just tried to rob. I can do whatever I damn well please."
"Please, listen— Elena made me! She said if I didn't send the files, she'd ruin me—"
He raised a hand. "You already ruined yourself."
Clara's knees buckled, tears spilling. "You don't understand, Chris— I loved you!"
That word froze him for half a second.
Then he said coldly, "Love doesn't destroy lives."
She fell silent. The air between them thickened with regret and rage.
He walked closer, every step deliberate. "Tell me everything she planned. Every message. Every leak. Or I swear, I'll hand you over to the authorities tonight."
Clara broke. The confession spilled out in trembling sobs. The photos, the doctored videos, the payments routed through offshore accounts — all of it.
When she finished, Christopher turned toward the door.
"Your suspension just became termination."
"Wait— what happens to me now?" she whispered.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable.
"Pray Elena turns on you slower than I will."
And with that, he was gone.
---
Meanwhile, in her luxury penthouse, Elena Moretti smiled as her phone vibrated with a notification.
> File transfer complete.
She didn't know Christopher had intercepted it midstream, replacing half the contents with encrypted blanks and a silent trace program.
She thought she'd won.
He knew the war had just begun.
Standing in his car, rain pouring down the windshield, Christopher muttered, "You wanted a reckoning, Elena. Let's see if you survive it."
---