m left untouched for too long, met her. She remembered sitting in the corner of this office as a chil

e massive mahogany desk. This was her father's space. A place of power she once viewed with awe

pang of nostalgia piercing her composure. She pulled her hand back as if the lea

ing. She pulled the chair out, sat down, and p

r father had created as a joke years ago. It worked. He had taught her that password when she was twelve. A joke, he had called it. But she k

nt. They stood before the desk like schoolboys awaiting punishment. None

ut all external network acc

stammered, "Ms. Hawthorne, that will shut down a

sk toward him. "You have ten seconds." She didn't count o

nd barked frantic orders to the server room. "Pul

e connection to a red X. The building was now a digital island. No one in, no one ou

ace stark and efficient, and began copying terabytes of financial data, server logs, and internal emails. She had built this

ll headache. She rubbed her temples, fe

corner of the office and quietly switched on the large, wall-mount

uld have told Daisy to turn it off. She should have looked away. But something kept her eyes

sound. She glanced up at the scre

n she s

d, filled the screen. He was dressed in a dark, impeccably tailore

d his face like weapons. They shouted questions

at her. His eyes held the same arrogant, soul-crushing indifference she remembered so well. That look h

patiently on the desk, froze. Her heart gav

ning his fiancée, the celebrated philanthropist Kaila Wa

washed through her, cold and sharp. Not just hatred. Something older. Something that li

. He brushed past the reporters without a word, hi

on their last night together. The memory was so vivid it made her stomach clench. She ex

the sudden tension in her shoulders. She starte

emote from the desk, her movements calm a

ust a clean, decisive press. No flicker of ol

the red po

tion in the dark glass. The woman looking back at her was n

tal. Her gaze returned to the data transfer progress bar on her computer monitor.