Chapter 29 Chapter 29
Lena's POV
Dawn creeps into my apartment like an apology. The light doesn’t fill the room—it edges in, thin and reluctant, brushing across papers scattered everywhere. My laptop hums, the glow turning my coffee mug into a faint mirror. I haven’t slept. I’m not planning to.
Nate’s been here for the last hour, slouched on my couch with his hoodie half-zipped and a can of energy drink balanced on one knee. He looks like every tech genius who’s seen too much code and not enough sunlight. When he drops a folder on the table, the sound is final.
“This wasn’t a glitch,” he says. His voice carries the grim satisfaction of someone who’s just proved a theory. “It was surgical.”
I slide the folder toward me, scanning the printouts. Lines of data—clean, deliberate, wrong. “Internal?”
“Whoever did it had clearance and confidence.”
The words settle, heavy and sharp. I shut the folder slowly. “Then we stop calling this damage control. It’s a hunt.”
Nate lifts an eyebrow. “You sound way too calm about that.”
“I’m done panicking,” I say. The taste of stale coffee cuts against the tightness in my chest. “We find whoever’s inside our walls before the presentation. Three days. That’s enough.
He studies me for a moment, then nods and starts typing again. The tap of keys fills the silence; it’s almost soothing. I let it wrap around me until the city outside begins to wake, a pulse I can match my breathing to.
By the time I step into the elevator at Lancaster Industries, the calm has turned to focus.
The executive floor gleams like it’s been carved from ice. Glass, chrome, silence. Every sound echoes here, even thoughts. I catch a glimpse through Sebastian’s office wall of glass—he’s already inside, immaculate as always. His assistant stands by the desk, holding his coffee like it might explode.
“You left late and returned early,” she says carefully.
He doesn’t look up from his screen. “I set my own schedule.”
She hesitates. “And Ms. Reyes—”
“We’re not discussing Ms. Reyes.”
The tone slices through the space. Even from outside, I feel it in my bones. When the door closes behind her, he sits there for a second, motionless. Then one hand curls against the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening. I move on before he sees me watching, pretending my pulse isn’t still reacting to the sight of him.
The hallway smells faintly of steel polish and citrus. My heels hit the floor in measured rhythm until I round the corner—and stop.
Sebastian.
He’s walking toward me, calm precision in every step, and suddenly the air feels too small. We stop a few feet apart. The distance is almost worse than touch.
His eyes hold mine, dark and unreadable. Every unsaid thing between us tightens the space until it hums.
“We should keep this professional,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to.
“That would be wise.”
Neither of us moves. The world narrows to the sound of our breathing, uneven, matching. Then I force myself to walk past him. The scent of his cologne—cedar, smoke, control—clings to the air behind me. I don’t look back, but I know he’s still there, watching.
The server room burns with fluorescent light. Machines hum like an anxious heartbeat. Nate crouches by the racks, cables looping over his arm.
“Access timestamp was deliberate,” he says. “No attempt to hide it.”
“So they wanted me to know someone was in the system.”
He looks up. “Which means what?”
“That it wasn’t sabotage to slow me down.” I scroll through the logs, scanning the code that shouldn’t exist. The realization hits colder than fear. “It was sabotage to watch me fail.”
Nate whistles softly. “That’s personal.”
“Exactly.” I close the laptop and the sound rings too loud. “Someone wants this to look like my fault.”
By nightfall, most of the building is empty. The only light on this floor leaks from Sebastian’s office. I see him through the glass—tie gone, sleeves rolled, head bowed over his hands. The mask that never slips in daylight looks cracked now.
Tessa stands near the window, arms folded, voice low. “You’re burning yourself to the ground pretending you’re fine.”
“I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.”
“You already did,” she says gently. “You’re just doing it quietly.”
Silence. He stares at the desk like it’s the only thing holding him up.
“She’s investigating the breach,” Tessa adds.
His head lifts. Even through the glass, the change in his expression is instant, raw. “She shouldn’t be doing that alone.”
“Then maybe stop pretending you’re not on her side.”
He turns away, eyes closing for half a second before he speaks. “Sides are the luxury of people who aren’t drowning.”
I leave before the door can open, before I do something reckless like walk in there.
At home again, the night sits heavy. My apartment is quiet except for the hum of my laptop. The city outside glows faintly through the curtains—neon bleeding into darkness. I pull my hair back, crack my knuckles, and keep digging.
Lines of code scroll past, numbers, permissions, timestamps. The deeper I trace, the clearer the shape becomes. One access point. Higher clearance than mine or Sienna’s. Enough to bypass the entire security stack. No attempt at concealment. It’s like they wanted their signature to be legible.
I rerun the analysis. Same result.
Whoever did this didn’t cover their tracks—they highlighted them.
I lean back, exhale. My chest feels too tight.
The cursor blinks, waiting.
“You didn’t just want access,” I whisper.
The room seems to tilt slightly, the air thinner.
“You wanted me to know you were close.”
The laptop’s fan spins louder for a heartbeat, then stills. My reflection flickers in the dark screen, eyes sharp, jaw set.
Somewhere inside this company, someone is watching.