Victor Harrow sat behind his custom Italian desk, the skyline of the city burning through the glass behind him, but his mind was far from the view. For the first time in years, he was rattled.
She had looked him in the eye. Named his sins. And disappeared before he could even call for his driver.
Now, all he could hear were her words:
"You killed someone I loved."
Victor tapped his fingers against the desk. Four precise beats. A rhythm he used to control his spiraling thoughts. He was used to women being unpredictable—but not untraceable. Not this calm. Not this dangerous.
Selene Virelli.
He ran the name through five different private intelligence services.
Nothing.
No government ID. No real estate. No social security. No tax records.
She didn't exist.
He picked up the phone. "Get Malcolm in here. Now."
A few minutes later, Malcolm Krane, Victor's head of security, walked in. Ex-military. Clean-cut. Efficient.
"I need everything on Selene Virelli," Victor ordered. "Every alias. Every country. Every false trail. Burn money if you have to, but I want to know who the hell she is by morning."
Malcolm blinked. "You think she's a threat?"
Victor stared at the whiskey glass in his hand. "I think she's something worse."
"Worse?"
"A woman with nothing to lose and everything planned in advance."
Malcolm frowned. "Should I be concerned about your safety?"
Victor smiled thinly. "Always be concerned about my safety."
As Malcolm left to begin the search, Victor walked over to a framed photo on his shelf—a younger version of himself shaking hands with a South American biotech executive. The inscription beneath read:
"To the future. No risk, no reward."
Victor remembered the Orchid Project. He'd signed off on it. It was supposed to be a secret test bed. Unregulated medicine for the terminally ill. Desperate people didn't ask questions. But when the trial failed—and patients started dying—they'd pulled the plug and torched the clinic.
One girl had survived. Just one.
Victor had made sure her name was erased from every system.
But ghosts, it seemed, had a way of finding him.
He opened his safe and pulled out a silver USB drive—a dead man's switch holding everything: names, dates, locations. It had always been his protection against betrayal.
Now, it felt like a map to his grave.
He poured himself another drink, but didn't take a sip.
Across the room, the digital photo frame blinked.
Just for a second.
He froze.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
Victor walked over. Tapped the screen. It glitched again—then returned to normal.
But the unease didn't pass.
In that moment, he knew: Selene hadn't just visited him.
She'd infiltrated him.
Not through seduction.
Through precision.
Through code.
Through vengeance dressed in red.