The aftermath of the "fire drill" left the Miller Tech lobby in a state of controlled chaos. Clara was leaning against the side of their private SUV, her face pale, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped her leather briefcase.
"I saw her, Ren," Clara whispered, her eyes darting to the shifting crowds of employees pouring out of the building. "In the stairwell. A woman in red. She looked… she looked like she was looking for someone. Not the servers. Someone."
Ren leaned in close, his body acting as a physical shield between her and the world. He tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, his touch cool and grounding. "It was a chaotic moment, Clara. The mind plays tricks when the sirens go off. You're safe now. I'm here."
Clara looked into his dark flint eyes, searching for the warmth she usually found there. For a split second, she saw something else—a depth that felt like staring into an abyss. "You're always here, aren't you? Even when I don't see you."
"Always," Ren promised.
Three nights later, the trauma of the "drill" had been buried under the necessities of high-society networking. The annual Obsidian Gala was the city's apex event—a gathering of the 0.1% where billion-dollar deals were sealed with a handshake and a glass of champagne.
Clara looked stunning in a backless gown of midnight blue, but she clung to Ren's arm as if he were her only anchor. Ren, in a perfectly tailored charcoal tuxedo, looked every bit the supportive spouse, though his internal sensors were screaming.
The air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive tobacco. But underneath it, Ren felt a familiar, heavy pressure.
"Ah, the Millers," a voice cut through the air like a silk ribbon.
Serafina Volkov stepped out from a circle of ambassadors. She was the CEO of Volkov International, Clara's biggest competitor, and a woman rumored to have ties to the global underworld. She wore a dress made of gold scales that seemed to cling to her curves like liquid metal.
Her eyes didn't go to Clara. They went straight to Ren.
"Serafina," Clara said, her voice tightening. "I didn't think you'd make it after your firm's… recent setbacks."
"Business is like a dance, Clara. Sometimes you stumble, but the music never stops," Serafina purred. She stepped closer, moving into Ren's personal space. She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve. "And who is this? You've been hiding him, haven't you? Such a… sturdy foundation for your house."
"My husband, Ren," Clara said, her grip on Ren's arm turning possessive.
Serafina's gaze locked onto Ren's. Unlike the others, she didn't see a trophy husband. She was a hunter; she recognized the stillness in him. She felt the micro-vibrations of his Origin Pulse even as he tried to dampen it.
"Ren," Serafina breathed, her voice dropping to a register meant only for him. "You look like a man who knows how to handle… delicate assets."
"I handle what's mine," Ren replied, his voice a low rumble.
An hour later, Clara was pulled away by the Minister of Trade. Ren, sensing a shadow following him, stepped onto a secluded balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens.
He didn't have to wait long.
"You can stop the act, Zero," Serafina said, stepping out from behind a heavy velvet curtain. She had a glass of dark liquor in one hand and a folder in the other. "I know who you were. The Architect. The man who built the Syndicate's black sites and then burned them all down."
Ren didn't turn around. The moonlight glinted off the silver cufflinks Clara had bought him for their anniversary. "That man is dead."
"Then why did forty mercenaries vanish from the shipyard three nights ago? Why did a sanitized hit squad get dismantled in five minutes at Miller Tech?" Serafina walked up behind him, her body heat radiating against his back. "You're protecting her. But you can't do it alone. The Syndicate is sending a 'Level 9' team. Not just Viper. Everyone."
She slipped her hand around his waist, her palm flat against his stomach, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath the tuxedo.
"Come to me, Ren. I have the satellite codes. I have the private army. I can give you the world, and I can keep Clara alive—on one condition."
Ren finally turned, his eyes glowing with that dangerous, predatory amber light. He looked down at her, his presence suddenly expanding, making the balcony feel like a cage.
"And the condition?"
Serafina leaned in, her lips brushing the pulse point on his neck. She shivered as the sheer intensity of his energy washed over her. "You belong to me. In the boardroom, in the field… and especially in my bed. I want to see if the man who can break the world can also break me."
She didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed his tie, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of bourbon and desperation.
At that exact moment, the balcony door creaked.
Clara stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, her heart shattering as she saw her "perfect" husband in the arms of her greatest enemy. But before she could speak, a red dot of a laser sight appeared on her chest, centered right over her heart.
Ren saw it. Time slowed.
The "Husband" was gone. The "Architect" was back.