Novels by Exetra

Nathaniel Cross's office smelled like expensive leather and old ambition, and he made Seren wait exactly four minutes past their appointment time—long enough to be deliberate, short enough to be deniable.When his heavy mahogany door finally swung open, Cross sat behind a immaculate glass-topped desk overlooking the grey skyline of the financial district. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him like tears on cold glass."Miss Crestwood-Dane." He didn't rise from his leather armchair. "Or is it Ashby today? I find people in your situation get precious about which name goes with which room.""Crestwood-Dane," Seren said, walking across the plush rug and taking the high-backed seat across from him without being offered it. "Since I'm the one whose freedom is on the docket, I'd like to know who's actually representing me.""I am. Officially. The Voss firm retained me on your case eight days ago, on Mr. Voss's authority and his grandmother's money." He steepled his long, mani

Callan found Felix hunched over three monitors at six in the morning, surrounded by cold coffee cups that had multiplied like evidence at a crime scene. Blue light from the displays washed over Felix’s face, turning his skin the color of salt."Tell me it's good news," Callan said, stopping at the edge of the desk."It's news," Felix replied, not looking up. His fingers flew across a mechanical keyboard with the sharp, rhythmic snap of small arms fire. "Whether it's good depends on how much you like your grandmother's job."He turned the center monitor around. Rows of shell entities, dated purchases, proxy assignments—a year's worth of quiet accumulation dressed up as routine portfolio diversification."Dorian's been buying loyalty," Felix said, tapping a red line of data. "Three board members. Whitfield, Anders, and—this is the one that's going to sting—Delacroix-Hart. All three took money through blind trusts that trace back, eventually, to Chase-adjacent holding companies. Eventual

The night Callan Voss walked into Chase Tower with Seren Ashby, he wasn't just a boy playing at rebellion anymore. He was a man wearing a dark jacket, a custom-forged contractor’s badge that Rue had looped into the building’s own security matrix, and the calmness of someone who had already accepted the possibility of being locked up in a prison cell.Seren was at his side, clothed in the same dark emerald dress she’d worn to the gala. To the lobby cameras, she was just an elegant, anonymous guest. In her own mind, she was more of a ghost. She kept her chin high and her breathing shallow, her eyes tracking the movement of the security detail like a hawk.This was her life now. A series of high-stakes tightrope walks, each one steeper than the last. She remembered the rush of the first time she’d forged her mother’s signature to secure her own tuition, the way the world felt like it was shifting beneath her feet.But this was quite different and the adrenaline rush that came with it was

Callan had left only one thing behind in room 114.It actually hadn't been a mistake, he was much smarter than that. It was a burner phone. The browser history was that of a terrified young scholarship student who had spent his final weeks on campus desperately researching the Voss family succession laws.He had hidden it four days ago, tucking it deep behind the loose floorboard beneath his old bed, acting on a quiet warning from Felix that Matthew Bening was still leaking information to Benjamin Starr.Since Starr had been whispering directly into Dorian Chase’s ear for the past two weeks, Callan knew it was only a matter of time before someone came hunting for a smoking gun.At the end of the dark corridor of Meridian Hall, Felix stared at his secondary tablet, his fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted the remote camera feed. He caught the precise second Matthew Bening slipped out of room 114. Matthew’s face was pale and desperate, his knuckles white as he clutched the burner p

The intelligence team was actually three people, not six. His grandmother had led him to believe in a small army, but the reality was actually more dangerous. The core of the operation consisted of Anna, a former city prosecutor, Rue, a tech prodigy whose fingers seemed to dance across keys at the speed of thought; and Winthrop, an older man with silver hair and a lifetime of secrets from the national financial crimes unit.They met in the basement of the estate at 10:00 p.m. The room was small and quiet, but it seemed big until the new boss walked in. Callan stepped into the light, his hand resting briefly on Seren’s back. It was a gesture of ownership, or perhaps protection, that neither of them acknowledged."This is Seren," Callan said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "She is my partner in this. Give her the same clearance you give me."Anna looked at Seren, scanning the way Seren held herself—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes tracking every piece of equipment in the roo

Seren spent the twelve hours doing what she did with every decision that threatened to alter her life again by building a dossier.She opened a fresh document and began to map the status of her situation. She wrote down everything she knew about Callan Voss, everything she had dug up in twelve hours of frantic researching. A few things that didn't add up, there were gaps in his history and then there was the the sheer, impossible silence of his life.She ran his name through the campus registry, through Meridian City’s public business records, and through the social archives of every gala and board meeting the Voss family had attended in the last five years.He wasn't in any of it and it made absolutely no sense to her. Two years of total ghosting! No photos. No tags. No mentions whatsoever anywhere.That was either the result of deep discipline or high-level coaching. She suspected it was quite the exhilirating combination of both.She opened a second column for Dorian Chase. He was