Chapter 4: The Fortress of Glass
The drive from the Thorne Estate to Killian's private villa was conducted in a heavy, suffocating silence. Outside the tinted windows of the Maybach, the sprawling suburbs bled into the jagged, neon-lit silhouette of the city's most exclusive cliffside district.
Killian sat as far from Evelyn as the leather bench allowed, his profile cutting a sharp, icy silhouette against the passing streetlights. He hadn't spoken since they left the dinner. The chaos she had unleashed Marcus's phone bricking in his hand and the sudden "glitch" in the family's private server had left the household in a state of high alert. Killian was vibrating with a restless, dark energy, his mind clearly spinning with theories he couldn't yet prove.
The car hissed to a stop in front of a brutalist masterpiece of glass and black basalt. This wasn't a family home; it was a fortress of solitude.
"Out," Killian commanded, his voice raspy.
Evelyn stepped into the cool night air, clutching her small bag. The villa loomed over the Pacific, the sound of crashing waves providing a jagged soundtrack to the tension. As they entered the foyer, a woman in a crisp, charcoal uniform stepped forward, bowing her head.
"This is Maria," Killian said, not looking at Evelyn. "She is the only staff member who lives on-site. She answers to me, and me alone. Maria, this is Evelyn. She is my wife. You will ensure she has everything she needs, but she is not to leave the grounds without my express permission."
"Yes, Mr. Thorne," Maria replied, her eyes briefly flicking to Evelyn with a curiosity she quickly suppressed.
Killian turned to Evelyn then, stepping into her space. He was still in his tuxedo, the bowtie undone and hanging loose around his neck, giving him the look of a dangerous predator who had just finished a hunt.
"This isn't the family manor, Evelyn. There are no prying eyes here. No Marcus, no Beatrice. Just the two of us and the truth. Don't make me regret bringing you here."
He gestured to Maria to take her away, but Evelyn stood her ground, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag.
"Mr. Thorne," she said, pitching her voice to that soft, hesitant frequency that kept him off-balance. "If I am to stay here... if I am to be 'invisible' as you requested... I find the silence very difficult. Is it possible to have a computer device? For... for my studies? And perhaps to keep in touch with the hospital regarding my sister?"
Killian paused, his hand on the banister of the floating staircase. He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing. A girl who looked like a frightened rabbit asking for a high-powered connection was a red flag, yet he saw only her smudged glasses and the slight tremor in her hands.
"A computer?" he repeated, his voice trailing off into a hum of suspicion.
"Just a laptop," she whispered. "I won't be any trouble."
Killian stared at her for a long beat. The air between them felt thick, charged with the static of his doubt and her hidden brilliance. Finally, he gave a curt nod to Maria.
"Give her one of the standard tablets from the study. Secure the network, but let her have her 'studies.' I have work to do."
He vanished up the stairs, leaving Evelyn standing in the vast, cold foyer.
The Gilded Cage
Maria led Evelyn to a suite on the third floor. It was a masterpiece of cold luxury white silk walls, a bed large enough for four people, and a balcony that hung over the dark abyss of the ocean.
"Your room, Madam," Maria said, placing a sleek, high-end tablet on the nightstand. "Mr. Thorne has authorized this for your use. Is there anything else?"
"No, Maria. Thank you."
Once the door clicked shut, Evelyn didn't go to the bed. She didn't look at the view. She moved to the door, listening until Maria's footsteps faded. Then, she snatched the tablet.
It was locked down with Thorne Industries' proprietary security biometric scans, encrypted firewalls, and a constant ping back to the main server. To a normal person, it was a restricted toy. To Evelyn, it was a doorway.
She sat on the floor in the dark, the glow of the screen reflecting in her glasses. She didn't use the interface. She bypassed it, opening the command line through a series of rhythmic taps on the chassis that triggered a back-door exploit she had discovered months ago.
Accessing...
Bypassing Thorne-Wall...
Identity: Oracle.
She wasn't looking for news of her sister yet. She was looking for him.
She tapped into the villa's internal network. She saw the blueprints, the security cameras, and the data usage. Killian was in his study, three floors down. He was currently accessing the logs from the dinner, trying to trace the "Oracle" signal.
"You're looking in the wrong place, Killian," she murmured.
She watched him through the camera in his study. He had discarded his jacket, his white shirt strained against his shoulders as he leaned over his monitors. He looked haunted. He was a man who prided himself on control, and "Oracle" was a variable he couldn't solve.
She felt a strange, tightening sensation in her chest. It wasn't just the thrill of the hack. It was the sight of him isolated in his own palace, surrounded by enemies in his own bloodline, clutching at shadows.
She decided to give him a nudge.
The Midnight Message
In the study below, Killian slammed his fist onto the desk. The trace had died at a ghost server in Singapore. Whoever this was, they were a god among men.
Suddenly, his primary monitor flickered. The data logs vanished, replaced by a single, pulsing line of text.
[USER: ORACLE]
[MESSAGE: YOU SHOULD CHECK THE COOLING VENT IN THE ESTATE LIBRARY. MARCUS HAS A HARD-WIRED SNIFFER. THAT IS HOW HE GOT YOUR DATA.]
Killian stood up so fast his chair flipped over. "How are you doing this?!" he shouted to the empty room.
He typed back, his fingers trembling with a mix of rage and adrenaline: Where are you? Why are you helping me?
The response was instantaneous: [I don't like bullies. And I don't like sloppy code. Fix your vents, Thorne. We'll talk when you're less desperate.]
The connection severed.
Killian bolted out of his office, his heart hammering. He needed to find the source. He ran to the server room in the villa, his mind racing. If the signal was local, he would catch them.
He burst into the hallway, heading toward the guest wing. He threw open the door to Evelyn's suite without knocking.
Evelyn was sitting on the edge of the bed, the tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. She looked small, vulnerable, and completely overwhelmed by his sudden, violent entrance.
"Give it to me," he gasped, his chest heaving as he reached for the tablet.
"S-sir? I was just... I was looking at photos of my sister," she cried, her voice breaking.
Killian snatched the device from her hands. His eyes scanned the screen. It was open to a medical portal records of Lucy Vance's heart condition. There were no command prompts. No code. No "Oracle."
He looked from the tablet to Evelyn. She was trembling, her lip quivering. The heat in the room was suffocating, the tension between his suspicion and her perceived innocence reaching a breaking point. He felt like a monster, looming over this broken girl while a genius mocked him from the shadows.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his hand gripping the edge of the mattress. "If I find out you're playing me, Evelyn... if I find out you're more than you seem..."
"I'm nothing, Mr. Thorne," she whispered, a single tear tracing a path behind her glasses. "I'm just a janitor you bought. Please... don't hurt me."
Killian's gaze lingered on her lips, then her eyes. For a second, the mask of the Ice King cracked, replaced by a raw, confusing hunger. He didn't know if he wanted to break her or protect her.
He shoved the tablet back at her and turned on his heel. "Stay in your room. If I hear you've left this floor, the contract is over."
He slammed the door, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
Evelyn waited until she heard his footsteps disappear. She let out a long, shaky breath and wiped the tear away. Her eyes shifted, the "frightened" look vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating brilliance.
"Too close," she whispered.
She picked up the tablet. Underneath the medical records, hidden in a partitioned sector of the RAM, the "Oracle" protocol was still humming.