The city's skyline shimmered in the golden afterglow of dusk, reflecting against the glass walls of Maison Eloria's rooftop boutique. Strings of fairy lights danced in the light breeze, entwined with fresh jasmine vines and silver streamers that shimmered with every flicker.
Olivia stood at the far end of the garden terrace, wrapped in an elegant off-shoulder satin gown that hugged her new frame like a second skin. The shade of violet-gray made her hazel eyes shimmer beneath the glow of the overhead chandeliers.
The event was intimate yet opulent—exactly the kind of gathering Rose Laurier would attend without a second thought. A soft piano version of a jazz classic floated through the air. Waiters in pearl-colored uniforms moved fluidly through clusters of elite guests, offering crystal flutes of champagne and delicate lavender macarons.
A PR rep from Maison Eloria approached with a warm smile.
"Miss Laurier, your last campaign performance was extraordinary. We've seen a 27% jump in pre-orders and an 18% uptick in international reach. You really are the scent of the season."
Olivia gave her a lazy smile, letting her body fall into the natural elegance Rose used like armor. "Just glad the numbers match the fragrance."
Her tone was polished, practiced. It was almost frightening how naturally she was slipping into this life.
A pair of photographers stepped forward, and she turned slightly, giving them the angle they'd expect. Left cheek, half-smile, hand on hip. Elegant. Untouchable.
"Rose, darling!" came another voice, this time from a fashion editor who floated in with a champagne glass and too many sequins.
Olivia exchanged air kisses and nods but didn't stay long in conversation. She floated through the evening like perfume itself—seen, noticed, impossible to grasp.
But beneath the glamor and wine-fueled compliments, her thoughts pulsed elsewhere. Always elsewhere.
She left early, using the excuse of a minor migraine. A lie, but one no one dared challenge.
By the time she returned to the Laurier penthouse, the mask was already peeling off. She tossed the heels aside, yanked pins from her hair, and traded silk for cotton.
The city outside was quieter now, muted by glass. The scent of luxury still clung to her skin, but the glow had gone out of her eyes.
She was Olivia Carter again.
She settled into her workstation, a sleek L-shaped desk near the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in soft blue light from three ultra-wide monitors.
Her hands flew over the keyboard with familiarity. She opened her encrypted client log—seven requests waiting. Good. The cyber world didn't care about gowns or perfume deals. It cared about skill.
Her first task was a ghost contract from Singapore. A small politician wanted his academic suspension from years ago scrubbed from a few national archives. Tricky but doable. Olivia skimmed the server trails, spotting the vulnerabilities she needed.
It took her forty-three minutes to complete the job. She sent confirmation, then moved to the next task—a reputation shield.
As she worked, Olivia felt the strange peace that always accompanied her in these moments. Fingers dancing, mind humming. This was her rhythm. The world outside faded away, leaving only logic and code.
By her third assignment—a crypto wallet rerouting—her stomach growled. She ignored it, lost in the flow.
It was during her fourth job, a surveillance bypass for a European executive, that something odd happened.
Her screen blinked. Just once.
A warning alert scrolled across the top-right monitor.
External query detected.
She sat upright, tension crackling through her spine.
The query hadn't originated from any of her client's side.
She double-checked her cloaking parameters. Everything was sealed. Everything masked.
Except… she had been skimming through a lesser-known business network while re-routing metadata. One of the archive sub-domains had been more protected than it appeared.
She paused and ran a reverse search.
Quinn Corp.
Her blood cooled.
The scrape must have crossed into a non-public registry connected to one of Quinn Corp's satellite investment portfolios. A dormant site, but still monitored.
"Damn it," she whispered.
She closed the script immediately, launched a trace scrubber, and began rerouting her nodes. Her hands moved faster now, breath quickening.
But then she noticed something that made her freeze.
They hadn't blocked her.
They had pinged her.
Just once. Just enough to let her know: We saw you.
She leaned back, brows furrowed.
That kind of response required expertise. Someone had not only identified her signature—scrambled as it was—but had chosen not to pursue. Not aggressively.
It was an intellectual nudge.
A calling card.
A professional saying: I see you. Do you see me?
She tilted her head and whispered, "Well… that's new."
Miles across the city, inside the midnight-lit war room of Quinn Corp's cybersecurity division, Damien Quinn stood with one hand on the back of a leather chair, his gaze fixed on the trace capture.
His team was already dismissed. He preferred working alone when things got interesting.
His brows were drawn, lips a tight line.
Encrypted layer bypassed. Pattern sequence untraceable.
He leaned closer.
"Who are you?"
There was something unmistakably personal about the coding structure. Whoever this was, they didn't copy tools—they built them. Customized protocols. Obfuscated strings that recompiled in real time. It was artistry.
Damien didn't smile often. But now, a sliver of amusement touched his mouth.
The intruder hadn't meant to be seen. But when she was, she hadn't panicked. She had shifted.
Gracefully.
Cleverly.
Almost… teasingly.
He pulled up the triangulation attempt his system auto-generated. It placed the origin near the West End. One of the upscale penthouse grids.
Still vague.
But he could wait.
He had all the time in the world.
And now, he had a game.
Back in the penthouse, Olivia logged off, ran a cleansing cycle through her cache, and shut the monitors.
She didn't know who had seen her. But she knew this much: they weren't average. Maybe not even entirely corporate.
She wasn't just being tracked.
She had been recognized.
And whoever it was? They were interested.
She smirked to herself, something dark and thrilled curling in her chest.
Let them watch.
This was only the beginning.