The Knight Empire's neon-lit buildings were behind the taxi as it rattled out from the city center. Elena watched the rain turn the outside world into a disorganised mosaic of grey and blue as she rested her head against the window's chilly, vibrating glass. Her heart continued to pound, the frenzied beat of the windscreen wipers being echoed by her pulse. The image of Alexander's frozen face—those eyes that once held warmth now turned into shards of ice—was burned into her mind like a brand.
He saw me, she thought, her hands trembling so violently she had to tuck them under her thighs. After three years of hiding in the shadows of Europe, working in dimly lit kitchens and cold warehouses, he saw me in a split second. A single gust of wind was all it took to tear down the wall I spent years building.
She knew how Alexander operated. He was a man who didn't believe in coincidences or fate. To him, her appearance at the airport wasn't a fluke; it was a tactical move. And Alexander Knight never backed down from a challenge. He was a predator who enjoyed the chase as much as the kill.
"We're here, Miss," the driver announced, snapping her out of her haunting thoughts.
The Bluebell Inn was a dilapidated two-story building that looked like it hadn't been renovated since the nineties. The sign flickered weakly in the storm, buzzing with a dying electricity that cast a pale, sickly blue light over the deep puddles. Elena paid the driver with a crumpled bill, adding a small tip to ensure he wouldn't remember her face too clearly if someone came asking. She dragged her heavy suitcase toward the entrance, the wheels splashing through the muddy water.
The lobby smelled of stale coffee, industrial cleaner, and the lingering scent of old cigarettes. An old man with a permanent scowl sat behind a yellowed, bulletproof glass partition, barely looking up from his tabloid newspaper.
"One room. One week," Elena said, pitching her voice lower and huskier than usual.
"Name?"
"Sarah Miller." She handed over a counterfeit ID she had acquired from a specialist in Geneva. It was high-quality, but her heart still hammered against her ribs as the man scanned it with a bored expression. After a tense silence that felt like hours, he handed her a rusty key attached to a plastic tag.
"Room 204. Elevator's broken. Stairs are to the left. Don't make too much noise, and don't lose the key. That's an extra fifty if you do."
Elena climbed the stairs, her muscles aching from the long flight and the massive adrenaline crash. Every creak of the floorboards made her flinch. When she finally reached her room, she locked the door with a trembling hand and pushed a heavy, stained wooden chair against the handle. Only then did she allow herself to collapse onto the thin, scratchy mattress.
She reached into her locket—the one piece of jewelry Sylvia hadn't managed to steal from her because Elena had hidden it inside her shoe during the expulsion. With shaking fingers, she clicked it open. Inside was a tiny, high-resolution photo of a boy with bright, curious eyes and a defiant little pout.
"Leo," she whispered, a sob finally breaking through the dam of her throat. "Mommy's almost there. Just wait a little longer, my brave boy."
She pulled out her burner phone and dialed an international number with a Swiss country code. After three agonizing rings, a woman's calm voice answered.
"Elena? Is that you? Did you make it to City A safely?" It was Mary, the kind-hearted nurse who had been looking after Leo in a private, low-cost clinic in the Alps.
"I'm here, Mary. I'm in the city," Elena replied, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "How is he? How is my son today?"
There was a slight pause on the other end, the kind of silence that made Elena's stomach drop into a pit of despair. "He had another episode this morning, Elena. His oxygen levels dipped while he was sleeping. The doctors managed to stabilize him, but they were very clear... the surgery cannot wait more than two weeks. His heart is working too hard. The deposit for the specialized surgical team is due in five days. If we don't pay, they'll give his slot to someone else."
Elena felt like the walls of the small motel room were closing in on her. Two hundred thousand dollars. It was a fortune she didn't have, but her father's secret inheritance did. Her father, the only person who truly loved her in the White family, had left a significant portion of his private shares and a vault of gold to her, hidden away from the prying eyes of his second wife, Sylvia.
"I'll have the money, Mary. I promise on my life. Tell Leo that Mommy loves him and that I'm just out getting the 'magic medicine' that will make him strong enough to run in the park again."
After hanging up, Elena stared at the peeling wallpaper. She had five days to find her father's loyal lawyer, Mr. Chen, and sign the documents. But Mr. Chen had vanished shortly after the funeral, likely hiding from Sylvia's paid thugs. The only way to find him was to get into the White Group's 30th Anniversary Gala—the biggest social event of the year.
The next morning, Elena transformed herself. She applied heavy, sallow foundation to pale her healthy skin, wore a pair of thick-rimmed, non-prescription glasses, and donned a cheap, frizzy black wig that completely obscured her elegant chestnut hair. She wore a baggy, nondescript gray suit that hid her slender curves. She looked like a plain, overworked, and invisible office clerk.
She walked to a small, crowded internet cafe three blocks away, avoiding the main roads. She needed to know Alexander's next move. She typed "Knight-Core" into the search bar, and the results made her blood run cold.
The headlines were everywhere: "Knight-Core CEO Orders Total Airport Lockdown: Security Search for Mystery Woman Continues." There were grainy photos of her silhouette and rumors that Alexander was offering a massive reward for any information. He wasn't just looking for her; he was hunting her like a criminal.
"He's making the city my cage," she muttered, her eyes narrowing behind the glasses.
Then, a small advertisement on the sidebar caught her attention: "Knight-Core Subsidiary, Stellar Marketing, Seeking Temporary Senior Data Analyst. Immediate Hiring. Walk-in Interviews Today."
Stellar Marketing. She remembered that name. They were the ones handling the logistics and the highly-secured guest list for the White Group's gala. If she could get that job, she could find Mr. Chen's name on the list or get the security codes to enter the gala without an invitation.
It was a suicide mission. Working in a building owned by Alexander Knight was like walking into a lion's den with a steak tied around her neck. But she had no choice. Time was a luxury she didn't have.
By noon, Elena was standing in the lobby of Stellar Marketing. The building was a hive of activity, filled with young professionals in sharp suits. Elena kept her head down, blending into the background as "Sarah Miller."
The interview was a blur. The hiring manager, a woman named Ms. Sarah (ironically), was stressed and desperate. "Your resume is incredible, Ms. Miller. Geneva Logistics? Why are you applying for a one-week temp job here?"
"I'm in the middle of a relocation," Elena lied smoothly, her voice flat and robotic. "I need to stay busy. I find that idle hands lead to a dull mind, and I prefer the fast-paced environment of a crisis."
"Well, you've come to the right place. Our lead analyst quit yesterday, and the White Group gala is a mess. We need someone to finalize the VIP security clearances and the digital invitations by tomorrow night. Can you handle the pressure?"
"I've handled worse," Elena said, thinking of the nights she spent crying in a cold apartment in Switzerland while holding her sick son.
"You're hired. Salary is tripled for the inconvenience of the deadline. Start now. Follow me."
Elena was led to a cramped cubicle on the 15th floor. The air was thick with the sound of ringing phones and frantic typing. As she logged into the system and opened the master guest list, her breath hitched. There, at the very top of the list, marked in gold font, was the name: ALEXANDER KNIGHT - GUEST OF HONOR.
She began her work, her fingers flying across the keyboard with a precision that came from years of high-level administrative work. She was halfway through the security protocols when the entire floor suddenly went silent. The frantic energy of the office evaporated, replaced by a heavy, suffocating tension.
The elevator doors at the end of the hall opened with a sharp ding. A group of men in dark, expensive suits marched in, led by a figure that commanded the very air in the room.
Alexander Knight.
He looked like a god of war in a charcoal-gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful frame. His expression was a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes were sharp, scanning every desk, every face, every shadow. He wasn't supposed to be here; a man of his stature didn't visit small subsidiaries for routine checks.
"The security protocols for the gala are insufficient," Alexander's deep, baritone voice echoed through the open-plan office, vibrating in Elena's chest. "I want a manual review of every person on the guest list. I want to know their backgrounds, their connections, and if they've ever had a single conversation with a member of the White family in the last three years."
He began to walk down the aisle, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor. It sounded like a countdown.
Click. Click. Click.
Elena ducked her head, her heart hammering so hard she thought her ribs would crack. She stared at the blue light of the monitor, her fingers frozen over the keys.
He was getting closer. Ten feet. Five feet.
He stopped directly behind her cubicle. Elena could smell him now—the scent of expensive sandalwood, cold rain, and a hint of the scotch he favored. It was a scent that used to mean safety to her; now, it meant danger.
"And who is this?" Alexander asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky whisper that sent shivers down Elena's spine.
The manager scrambled forward, wiping sweat from her forehead. "This is our new temporary hire, Sarah Miller, sir. She just started. She's an expert in data encryption and security logistics. She's here to fix the gala's digital invitations."
Elena felt his gaze on the back of her head. It felt like a physical weight, a heat that threatened to melt her disguise and expose the woman beneath. She held her breath, her lungs burning.
"Sarah Miller," Alexander repeated the name, his voice lingering on the syllables as if he were testing a lie. "Turn around and show me the progress on the VIP encryption."
Elena had no choice. Slowly, she turned the swivel chair. She kept her chin tucked, her glasses sliding down her nose to hide her eyes, and her shoulders hunched to look smaller.
"Yes, Mr. Knight?" she said, her voice trembling just enough to sound like a terrified new employee.
Alexander leaned down, placing his large hands on the edge of her desk, effectively trapping her. His face was inches from hers. He studied the sallow skin of her forehead, the messy wig, and the way her lower lip quivered. He stayed there for an eternity, his dark eyes searching for a crack in the mask.
"You have a very... familiar way of typing, Ms. Miller," Alexander said, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Fast. Precise. No wasted movements. Most people in this office type with their fingers; you type with your mind. It's a rare trait."
"I... I had a very strict teacher, sir," she stammered, her heart doing somersaults.
Alexander reached out a hand. For a terrifying second, Elena was sure he was going to rip the wig off and expose her right there. She closed her eyes, bracing for the humiliation.
Instead, his fingers brushed her desk as he picked up a stray pen.
"Don't let the pressure get to you, Ms. Miller," he said, his voice dropping so low only she could hear it. "I have a very low tolerance for mistakes. Especially when it comes to people who think they can hide in my shadow and get away with it."
He dropped the pen onto her lap and straightened up, turning on his heel and walking away without a backward glance.
The moment the elevator doors closed, Elena collapsed against her desk, gasping for air. Her blouse was soaked with cold sweat. He suspected her. He didn't have proof yet, but he was playing a game of psychological warfare.
She turned back to her screen, her hands still shaking. She had to find Mr. Chen's location. She navigated to the private files, her eyes scanning the code. She found a folder labeled: "Confidential: White Family Legal Advisors."
She tried to open it, but a red warning flashed across the screen: [ACCESS DENIED. BIOMETRIC SCAN REQUIRED.]
At that exact moment, her burner phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out under the desk. It was a text message from a blocked number:
"I know you're in the building, Elena. I can hear your heart beating from here. Let's see how long you can keep up this little masquerade before you beg me for mercy."
Elena looked up at the security camera in the corner of the room. It was pointed directly at her. She wasn't just working for him; she was in his trap.