Grayson leaned back in his executive chair, silver eyes fixed on a hovering holographic display—Neville's desk, captured in crystal clarity by hidden surveillance.
The desk on the main feed was empty, but the side panels played replays from earlier recordings. Neville's graceful movements as he navigated across the diagnostic interface, shoulders shifting from time to time. He bit his lower lip when deep in thought—subtle, almost unnoticeable, except Grayson noticed.
He noticed everything.
Over the past few days, these details had been filed away in a corner of his mind that seemed increasingly—annoyingly—interested in Neville Hope.
Ever since the day he had uncharacteristically broken the protocol and allowed Neville into his private elevator, his gaze had been straying to him unconsciously.
Like some protagonist in a long-running drama, Neville kept bringing new scenes, new characters, and new… conflicts.
If he played his part well, perhaps the story would get even more interesting.
"He's good," Bryan Stewart commented with a faint smile, placing the last stack of files on the desk—ones that only needed his approval. "Caught on faster than the last three."
"Mm." Grayson's response was noncommittal, his expression unreadable, but he didn't glance away from the screens.
But in his silver eyes, something sharp flickered as the replay shifted—Ethan Goelet approached Neville's desk, lingering for far too long, his body language felt suspicious when he thought no one was watching.
This man had been almost professional about his actions—if he hadn't acted impulsively by himself.
Grayson had reviewed the recordings. Ethan Goelet had been the one stationed closest to Neville's desk for weeks. He had been monitored. Few but different people tampered with Neville's computer, but he didn't—he hadn't tampered with anything.
Until now.
This time, something was different.
This time, Ethan Goelet was—impatient.
He watched Neville handle the situation with practiced ease, a subtle play of expression and tone that could convince most people. Grayson remembered that same acting skill being used on him earlier—only to cover a lie, and had done so poorly.
"It hasn't been that long," he said, his voice deceptively mild, eyes still fixed on the replay. "Since the last purge, I mean."
Bryan Stewart's smile tightened, the corners sharpening. "Almost three months now, sir. I thought that rather… dramatic exit of the previous group would serve as a warning."
The previous group. Grayson remembered them well.
Seventeen senior employees across multiple departments—and more in the subsidiary companies—were terminated in a single sweep. Access revoked, contacts traced and neutralized. A carefully woven network of corporate spies who had thought that they were clever enough to crawl into Maxwell Corp's core. They had been lying in wait since his father's fall, thinking the empire would collapse if its head rolled.
They were wrong.
This disgrace had been made public, their names dragged through the Imperial Galaxy's corporate networks until no major company would hire them.
Thorough and Merciless.
"Clearly," Grayson murmured, his silver eyes narrowing, "they didn't take that lesson well."
His index finger began to tap against the desk, a precise, rhythmic pattern—Bryan Stewart knew it as his thinking gesture.
"The new ones are bolder. Slipping their own into the fresh hires, moving as if nothing happened." He leaned back, fingers steepled.
People often assumed that his military background meant he knew little about wielding power in the corporate world. They forgot that a man could be dangerous on more than one battlefield.
Yes, his father had built this empire. But that did not give scavengers the right to cut it into pieces the moment the old man was gone. In Grayson's eyes, they were nothing but ingrates—biting the very hand that had fed them.
"Shall we initiate another purge, sir?" Bryan Stewart asked.
Grayson's eyes never left the screen, tracking the movement of Neville's fingers as they flew across the holographic keyboard with practiced motion. He remembered those same hands touching his own—it was a fleeting contact, but his hand was surprisingly soft for someone with such rough, humble beginnings.
There was something almost hypnotic about the way Neville worked. His hands didn't just type; they moved, danced, and coaxed the data streams into place with an intuitive grace that spoke of raw, unpolished talent rather than mere training.
Even through the recording, Grayson caught the subtle shift in Neville's posture when he first discovered the misplaced file—the minute tightening of his shoulders.
He knows something's wrong, Grayson thought. Good instincts.
"No," he said at last, his tone deceptively calm. "Keep them running for a little longer."
Bryan Stewart's eyebrows rose a little—seemingly shocked at Grayson's unusual behavior. "Sir?"
"Let them think they're succeeding." Grayson's gaze turned sharp as if it could cut glass. "Give them enough rope."
Bryan Stewart's smile turned into understanding. "Of course, sir. How long of a rope shall we give them?"
"Enough to hang themselves properly this time." Grayson rose from his chair, moving toward the wide glass window that framed the glittering city below. "I want the one pulling the strings. The previous group was just the limbs—Now, I'm after their heads."
"Understood." Bryan Stewart bowed slightly, recognizing the dismissal. "I'll maintain surveillance and compile a comprehensive report."
"Bryan." Grayson's voice stopped him at the door.
"Have Iris keep a close watch on him," Grayson said without turning. "Move him if necessary."
Him? Neville? Bryan Stewart hesitated for a fraction of a second, curiosity pricking at him, but thought better of asking. "Understood, sir."
The door whispered shut, leaving Grayson alone with the surveillance feeds. He maximized the current recording—Ethan Goelet's forgetting to hand over a file to Neville.
A faint smile tugged at his lips when Neville's subtle grimace appeared on the screen.
Testing. Gathering information. Smart.
That sharp mind—hidden behind those outdated glasses and that carefully cultivated image of a mild-mannered personality—was one of the things Grayson appreciated most about him.
But he was too patient. Almost indecisive.
Grayson paused the feed at a particular moment—Neville turning toward the window, morning light catching ocean-blue eyes just right, transforming them into something almost otherworldly.
Beautiful.
The word formed in the silence of the room. Grayson didn't bother to hide it.
"If you're not a spy," he murmured to the frozen image, "then you must have been just… unlucky."
The words carried a meaning he himself didn't fully grasp. His instincts—honed by years of military campaigns and corporate battles—had never failed him.
Neville had secrets, yes.
He was mysterious, surprisingly competent, and oddly familiar in ways that made Grayson curious.
But a spy? No.
Which raised the question: why was he being targeted?
His gaze traced the outline of Neville's profile on the holographic display, recalling the faint, peculiar scent the man carried with him—a scent that, unlike most, didn't give him a headache.
He was unlucky to be targeted. Unlucky to be competent enough to draw attention and jealousy. Unlucky to have caught the eye of whoever was orchestrating this situation.
Or… perhaps lucky.
Because Ethan Goelet and his handler had no idea who they were truly dealing with. All they saw was a rookie—brilliant, unshielded by corporate alliances or powerful family connections.
They didn't see the ambition beneath his naive appearance. He was the kind that would let others use him—if it brought him closer to what he wanted.
And Neville wanted something.
Grayson remembered those ocean-blue eyes meeting his silver ones without the slightest fear.
It looked like Neville knew exactly what was happening.
More than that—he was just letting it happen.
If I was wrong, then so be it.
The idea sent a thrill of genuine interest through Grayson.
A pawn acting like a player, or a player disguised as a pawn?
You're a puzzle, Neville Hope, Grayson curiously thought. And I've always enjoyed solving puzzles.