Paris — Three Days Later
SeraphTech Headquarters, 38th Floor
The elevator doors opened with a whisper, revealing a panoramic view of the Paris skyline bathed in winter light. Gleaming steel, glass walls, and polished marble reflected the stark precision of a billion-dollar empire. Selene—still under her alias as Sophia Renard—stepped into the glass atrium like a shadow trimmed in elegance.
Security didn't even blink.
Alexander Voss had cleared her days ago.
That was the first mistake he'd made.
Or maybe it was his second—after trusting her the moment she first looked back at him on the Grand Palais terrace. Selene didn't believe in second chances. But today, she was going to take one anyway—because getting closer was the only way to finish the job. And if her heartbeat was a little more reckless around him, she buried it beneath the steel cage of her training.
A sleek woman with a tight bun and clipped heels approached. "Miss Renard, welcome. Mr. Voss is waiting for you in his private wing."
"Of course," Selene replied, her tone cool, the accent crisp and European. The assassin behind her words stayed silent.
As she was led down a corridor of frosted glass and translucent partitions, Selene scanned everything—camera placements, guard rotations, floor layout. She wasn't just walking into the dragon's den.
She was learning its rhythm.
And preparing to strike.
---
Alexander's private wing was more personal than Selene expected. Books lined the walls, some leather-bound and centuries old. A rare Turkish rug covered the floor. A vintage record player sat beside a decanter of whiskey. Classical music played softly—Debussy, if she wasn't mistaken. There was warmth here. Life.
Emotion.
It made killing him feel harder.
It made her hate herself for thinking that.
"Miss Renard," Alexander said as he turned from the massive window. "Or may I call you Sophia?"
His tone was playful, but his eyes—those sharp, sea-glass eyes—searched her like they already knew her skin was a costume. Selene offered a faint smile and moved toward him with deliberate grace.
"Whichever name you prefer, Mr. Voss," she said. "I find masks are sometimes necessary in our line of work."
He gestured for her to sit. "That's why I brought you here. I've had my share of masks. And knives behind smiles."
She tilted her head. "How dangerous do you think I am?"
"Enough to intrigue me. And enough to keep you close."
He sat across from her, forearms resting on his knees. He wasn't armed—not visibly. He didn't need to be. A man like him had legions to protect him. But something about the way he moved made Selene wonder if he'd learned to defend himself long before he had money to buy protection.
"I'm offering you a temporary role on SeraphTech's internal advisory board," he said.
Her brows rose. "That's a lot of trust for someone you met five days ago."
"I trust very few people," he said. "But I trust what I see in you."
"What do you see?"
He paused.
"A woman who isn't afraid of hard truths. Who's smarter than she lets on. Who's survived something she never talks about."
She inhaled slowly, caught off guard by the accuracy.
He smiled gently. "Let me guess. You didn't expect honesty."
"No," she admitted, eyes narrowing. "I didn't."
He leaned back, eyes still locked on hers. "So? Will you accept?"
Selene hesitated.
The deeper she got, the closer she came to the perfect kill. A private wing meant access. An advisory role meant movement through secure floors. She could plant a listening device. She could poison his drink. She could slit his throat while the guards were looking the other way.
"Yes," she said. "I'll accept."
He nodded once. "Good. Welcome to the fire."
---
That evening, she found herself alone in one of the guest suites on the thirty-sixth floor—lavishly furnished, eerily silent. She sat by the window, watching the city blink with life. Her blade lay on the table beside her wine glass, polished and cool.
Selene didn't drink. But tonight, she made an exception.
She had killed twenty-three men. Six women. Three teenagers who had grown up too fast and made enemies of the wrong people. None of it had ever made her pause.
But Alexander…
He wasn't just charming.
He wasn't just brilliant.
He was real in a way her targets never were.
He asked questions that made her want to answer.
He looked at her like she was something sacred—when she knew she wasn't even clean.
She thought of how his voice sounded in the quiet, just before he smiled. She thought of how his fingers brushed hers when he handed her the contract folder.
She thought of how easy it would be to climb into his bed and forget everything Orchid's Fang had trained into her.
And then she thought of the consequences.
Selene Vale had no illusions.
Love didn't come for people like her.
It came for the innocent.
And it left corpses when it touched monsters.
---
The next morning, she met Alexander in the main development wing. SeraphTech was buzzing—screens lit with code, developers talking in hushed voices about breakthroughs and firewalls. Everything was future-facing. Optimistic. Dangerous.
They entered a restricted chamber: The Halo Room.
It was there that Selene saw the truth of what SeraphTech had built.
A machine the size of a tank, sleek and silver, lit with blue veins. Its core thrummed with energy. She walked around it, eyes widening.
"This is Project Halo," Alexander said. "It's an algorithmic shield system. Capable of intercepting cyberattacks before they occur. Predictive AI. Military-grade. Governments will kill to control it."
"And you want to give it away?" Selene asked, stunned.
"To the people. To humanitarian networks. To communities under siege."
"You're serious."
"I'm many things," he said, looking at her, "but I've never been a liar."
Selene looked away, throat tight.
She was.
She was lying every second she stood beside him.
And somehow, he made her wish she wasn't.
---
Later, they walked through the greenhouse balcony at dusk, alone. The air smelled of rosemary and mint. Selene turned to him. Her voice came low.
"Why me, Alexander? Why trust someone with no background, no ties to you?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he stopped walking. The hush of night curled around them like silk.
"Because when I look at you," he said, "I see someone who's pretending not to feel anything. And I know what that costs."
Her chest tightened.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to stay.
"Is that empathy?" she asked bitterly.
"No," he said. "It's recognition."
And then—
He stepped closer.
His hand brushed her cheek.
She didn't move.
Couldn't.
"I shouldn't trust you," he whispered. "But I do."
"And I shouldn't want you," she said. "But I do."
Their lips met like a secret too dangerous to speak. The kiss was slow, deep—like diving into darkness with no promise of return. Selene felt herself unravel, the blade in her chest falling away for just one second.
One single second of peace.
When they broke apart, her fingers trembled.
Alexander looked like he'd known this would happen from the start.
Selene… didn't know anything anymore.
---
She returned to her suite alone, but her heart wasn't with her. It was somewhere between the man she was supposed to kill and the woman she no longer recognized.
She stared at herself in the mirror and saw the assassin staring back.
The lips that had kissed her mark.
The eyes that would have to watch him die.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she locked her door, sat on the floor, and whispered into her comms.
"Handler."
A pause.
"You're still breathing. I assume the target is not."
"No. I need more time."
"You're stalling."
"I'm assessing," she snapped. "There's more going on than we were told. I need deeper access. Project Halo is bigger than we thought."
The Handler's voice dropped to ice. "We don't care about the tech. We care about the corpse. Kill him within seven days or we send another."
Selene froze.
Another?
"No," she said quickly. "Give me the week. I'll handle it."
Silence.
Then: "Don't fall for him, Vale."
Too late.
She ended the call and closed her eyes.
Seven days.
To end a life.
Or lose her own.