He recoiled, the papers scattering. He spun, staring into the corners, expecting me to step out and call it a prank. He pulled out his phone. My screen lit with his name.

I hit reject, popped the SIM, rolled down the window of the speeding transport, and flicked the chip into the roaring highway wind.

Let him panic, I thought. But I knew Preston. When a narcissist is cornered, he doesn’t surrender—he burns the house down. And I’d just handed him the match.

Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Machine

The transport wound through the misty Hudson Valley before stopping at Sterling Heights—an impenetrable wellness estate for the ultra-elite, its medical tech rivaling the military’s.

The man behind the fortress was Harrison Sterling.

I was wheeled into a top-floor suite overlooking a blazing forest of autumn maples. The moment the nurses left, I opened my encrypted laptop. When a surgeon draws the blade, it must draw blood immediately.