Chapter 7 The Ghost in the Wires

Elira sat in the darkness of her small loft apartment, the only light in the room coming from the LED glow of her high-spec custom-built computer. Her eyes, sharp and focused, glinted in the reflection of the screen.

Click. Type. Tap-tap-tap.

Lines of code scrolled down at inhuman speed as her fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced aggression. She sat cross-legged in a hoodie and silk shorts, her hair messily thrown into a bun, and a cup of cold coffee abandoned at her side.

On the screen was an empty search result:

"Kieran Vale – No public records found."

She tilted her head.

"Nothing?" she muttered. "No articles? No photos? No LinkedIn? Who is this ghost?"

Her sister had once called Jason's uncle a predator in Armani-a man too slick, too smooth, and too connected to trust. But if there was no digital footprint, Elira couldn't help but be suspicious.

She tapped her lips with a knuckle. "If there's nothing public... then it means someone wants it that way."

And Elira hated secrets.

She stared at the name again.

Kieran Vale.

"You must be hiding something."

She had a hacker's instinct and a woman's intuition-and both were buzzing.

Realizing she needed a different route, Elira spun her chair slightly and reached for her backup phone. It had one function: a discreet bug she had secretly placed in Jason's phone long before the betrayal-when she still trusted him, but had been smart enough to prepare for anything.

She hadn't even used the bug. Until now.

One flick of her finger, and Jason's data screen opened.

"Let's see what you've been hiding, Jase," she whispered with a smirk.

She cracked into his message archives and location history-quickly and without mercy. And then she paused.

There it was:

Contact saved as "Uncle K."

A number. A location tag from two nights ago. A brief audio call.

"Bingo."

With an evil grin, she copied the number and bounced it through five spoofed servers, breaking into the digital vault hidden behind layers of security.

The screen glitched briefly, but then-success.

Lines of information began to download:Name: Kieran Vale

Age: 33

DOB: March 21

Occupation: Unknown

Associations: Monroe Holdings, Vale Estates, Unlisted Board Affiliations

Marital Status: Single

Known Residence: Confidential

Digital Footprint: Shielded

Net Worth: (Classified)

Elira's eyes widened.

"Thirty-three?" she muttered in disbelief. "I'm twenty-three!"

Then she paused... and shrugged. "Ten years? Eh, not bad."

She scrolled through more data, pausing to read. Nothing confirmed his work, but the red flags made it clear-Kieran wasn't just powerful. He was protected. That meant influence. Money. Danger.

Just as the last bar of the photo file was loading...

Her screen suddenly turned black.

Elira blinked. "Huh?"

The cursor disappeared. Then three white words appeared in the center of the screen:

Mind Your Business.

She stared.

Her lips parted slowly.

Then she burst into laughter.

"Oh really now?" she cackled. "Now I definitely want to know who you are."

Determined, she rolled her shoulders, cracked her knuckles, and began typing again-faster, stronger, a gleam in her eyes.

Whoever was on the other end of this firewall wasn't some casual tech bro. No, this was a duel. A digital chess match.

Another wave of code. Another buffer cracked.

The photo file downloaded-but just as it completed, her screen flashed red. An automated virus surged through her drive, attacking her system. She smirked.

"Cute."

Elira opened her custom antivirus program-one she wrote herself-and countered the threat. In under 30 seconds, the virus was gone.

"That's the best you've got? A malware pop-up? Amateur hour," she said smugly.

Once her system recovered, she minimized the firewall display and opened the image she'd retrieved.

And then she saw him.

Sharp jawline. Ice-blue eyes. Black hair that curled just slightly at the nape. An infuriatingly kissable smirk. Expensive suit. Dangerous aura.

Elira's jaw dropped.

"Wait... no freaking way."

She zoomed in on the photo.

"That's-THAT'S HIM??!!"

Her hand slapped over her mouth.

The same man she'd called a "pretty escort with sugar daddy vibes" weeks ago. The man who had looked at her with pure amusement while she spat fire and called him names.

"Holy sh-"

She sat back, wide-eyed.

"Uncle K is that guy?!" she gasped. "That cocky, smug, Greek-god-looking pain in the ass?!"

Elira burst into laughter, falling sideways on the chair as everything clicked into place.

No wonder her sister had called him dangerous.

Now that she knew who he was, one thought echoed in her mind like thunder:

She had insulted a man who could probably buy her apartment block, burn it down, and build a gold statue of himself in its place.

"...I'm so dead," she whispered.

Then she paused.

"No, scratch that. I'm intrigued."

Meanwhile...

The scent of bergamot and iron lingered in Kieran Vale's office-an oddly sterile but masculine combination that always accompanied his presence. The air conditioner hummed at a low, expensive pitch as Kieran stepped back into the room, freshly dressed in a charcoal silk shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with dark tailored slacks. His watch gleamed beneath the warm desk light, reflecting the precise, almost obsessive symmetry of the office.

He scanned the space with a calm nod.

The private cleaner had done her job perfectly. Not a speck remained. The rug was smoothed, the couch re-fluffed, and even the hint of shame that had once hovered in the air was vacuumed out with the dust.

Kieran slipped behind his desk, lounging into his black leather chair with the elegance of a man who ruled kingdoms in silence. He reached for the first document from a stack of sealed files and began reviewing with surgical precision.

Line by line.

Clause by clause.

Until the door burst open.

"Sir!"

Kieran didn't flinch. He simply looked up, one brow raised. "Rhys."

Rhys-his ever-loyal assistant-looked like he'd just sprinted across a battlefield. His blond hair was disheveled, shirt untucked on one side, and a sheen of sweat dampened his collar. His fingers clutched a sleek tablet like it was a bomb he didn't know how to defuse.

"Someone's trying to access your private information," Rhys blurted.

Kieran blinked once. "Oh really?"

"Yes, sir!" Rhys swallowed, trying to recover from the sprint and the internal panic. "We caught the breach attempt at Level Two."

Kieran didn't look remotely concerned. He sat back, tapping a pen thoughtfully on his palm. "Well then. Deal with it. That's why I pay you."

"Y-yes, sir," Rhys muttered.

But he didn't move. "H- how do I tell this man that the person had gotten some information already?" He wailed internally.

Kieran noticed the hesitation immediately. He narrowed his eyes, pen freezing mid-tap.

"What is it, Rhys?"

Rhys stood straighter, though his lips wobbled slightly. "Well... the thing is... the person-whoever it is-managed to extract approximately twenty percent of your profile before the firewall kicked in."

Kieran froze.

It was subtle, but the entire room seemed to tilt with tension. His aura, normally cold and still like a frozen lake, shifted with a dangerous ripple.

"Oh?" he asked.

Rhys nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Did they get anything sensitive?"

"Basic bio. Name. Age. City. Surface-level archives. They almost got your photo-almost."

Kieran leaned back slowly in his chair, gaze fixed on a single point beyond Rhys.

"Almost," he echoed. "And yet, they still got through."

"Yes, sir. We're working on tracing their location now. Whoever it is... they're smart. Quiet. Fast."

Kieran's jaw ticked. "Find them. Before they get curious again."

"Yes, sir."

Just as Rhys turned to leave, Kieran's phone rang with a ding. Growing, he glanced at the pop up message, "Hey, pretty escort."