James left before dawn.
No grand goodbyes, no drawn-out speeches. Just a kiss on my forehead, a whispered "Stay safe," and the sound of the helicopter blades disappearing into the London sky.
He was going to Dubai — to confront the board that once praised him and now planned to overthrow him.
And I?
I was left to hold the line.
---
"Watch the estate," he told Miles before leaving. "Double all surveillance. If anyone, even our own staff, steps out of line, report it directly to Amelia."
Miles gave me a tight nod, and I appreciated it more than I admitted.
But something in my gut twisted the moment James disappeared.
Not fear — not exactly.
> Instinct.
The kind I'd learned not to ignore.
---
Back at the estate, I poured over the files Isabelle left behind.
Documents detailing secret board meetings. Hidden accounts in the Caymans. A smear campaign aimed directly at James's name — already prepared, already waiting.
But one file…
One file made my blood run cold.
> Project Monarch.
An old tech initiative tied to Windsor's biotech labs.
It wasn't just about software.
It was about control.
Data-harvesting through wearable tech — disguised as health trackers, but designed to predict, manipulate, and redirect behavior.
And the worst part?
The project had been dormant for years.
Until two weeks ago.
When it was re-funded.
By a name I didn't expect:
> Rhys Alcott.
The interim board chair… and James's former mentor.
---
I called James immediately.
The line crackled — international interference.
He answered on the third ring, voice low.
"I'm in."
"You need to be careful," I whispered. "Rhys isn't just after your shares. He's reviving Monarch."
Silence.
Then:
> "That wasn't his project."
"What?"
"That program… Monarch… it was mine. Before I knew what they turned it into."
I gripped the phone tighter.
"I shut it down. Ordered every prototype burned. If they've rebuilt it…"
His voice faltered.
"They'll use it to control elections, Amelia. Markets. People. And they'll use my name to do it."
---
I didn't sleep that night.
James was in the lion's den.
And I was starting to feel like prey, too.
Something in the estate felt… off.
The security guards were too quiet. The housekeepers too watchful. Even Miles seemed more tense than usual.
Then came the knock at my door.
Soft. Too soft.
I opened it slowly — and found Isabelle standing there, soaked from the rain.
"I need to speak to you," she said, breathless. "Now."
---
We sat across from each other in the library, lightning flashing through the high windows.
"I warned James about the board," she said, "but I didn't tell him everything."
"What else?"
She leaned forward, voice low.
"They're not just coming for his company, Amelia. They're coming for you."
My chest tightened. "Why me?"
"Because you are his weakness. And they know if they take you out of the picture, James will self-destruct."
My fingers curled around the arm of the chair.
"I won't let them."
Isabelle hesitated — then reached into her coat and pulled out a small drive.
"This is everything," she said. "Names. Locations. Passwords. Use it if I don't come back tomorrow."
I narrowed my eyes. "Come back from where?"
She stood, pale.
"From doing something incredibly stupid."
---