2025-06-22 22:55:22
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Not Afraid
“You’re calmer than I expected,” she murmured as they moved.Julius smirked. “That’s because I’m waiting.”“For what?”“Whoever decides to ruin the night.”She rolled her eyes. “So romantic.”“I try.”The dance floor filled with swaying bodies. Champagne clinked. Laughter returned. For a moment, the world tilted toward peace.Until stilettos clicked.A voice, too sharp, too loud, sliced through the music.“Well, well,” it sneered. “It’s amazing how easily lies are hidden behind fairy lights and fake applause.”Every head turned.And there she stood.Clea Jenkins. Or rather… Quella.Gone was the fake blonde bob and sunglasses. She wore her old face now, styled and sharp in ivory satin, with a smugness that reeked of defiance. Her presence hit the crowd like a cold slap.Security flinched into motion, but Miley raised her hand coolly. “Wait.”Julius’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.Quella walked in like she owned the place. “You know, it’s convenient,” she said, lifting a flu
Trust me
The ballroom was brightly lit, with music booming out of the speakers in a melodious tone. It wasn’t just an end-of-year gala– because this event tonight wasn’t for the public. It was for the people who had endured the storms, the employees who had worked hard, assistants who pulled double shifts when the press was following them home, and the warehouse team who showed up the morning after the bomb scare. This was Miley’s night.The room had no VIP sections, only tables marked by names and departments of each employee. The centerpiece of each table held a different item crafted by the R&D division, a quiet homage to the innovation that had survived the sabotage. High above, the projector looped a video montage of lab clips, team retreats, and other moments of celebration. Miley stood near the stage in a midnight-blue gown, minimal jewelry, and her hair swept back in a low knot. She held a champagne flute in one hand, but it remained untouched. Her eyes scanned the room for fami
Power moves
The headlines broke like a dam across every international wire by dawn.“Clea Jenkins, alias of tech consultant Quella Marcourt, blacklisted globally for coordinated sabotage, espionage, and attempted intellectual property theft.”“The Guild freezes all known assets tied to Clea Jenkins’s shell companies.”“Interpol confirms detention of Clea Jenkins in Montenegro pending extradition on corporate crime charges.”Miley sat at the edge of the conference table, a fresh cup of untouched coffee in front of her, steam curling up like smoke from the war they had just finished winning.On the wall behind her, a mounted screen streamed a muted news segment. Footage played in a loop: blurred security cam of Quella being escorted out of a boutique hotel, two plainclothes officers on either side, one hand hovering just above her arm. Her face was grainy but unmistakable.She was not struggling. Just staring forward with that same smug defiance she wore like perfume.Julius entered the room silent
Little power
The storm did not start with thunder. It started with whispers.In a quiet corner of the city, word began to circulate, Miley Hart’s company had just finalized a breakthrough prototype, the kind that could revolutionize supply chain automation. Even more explosive was the rumored partnership with a European tech conglomerate: high stakes, high profile, and entirely fabricated.Miley sat at the edge of her desk, legs crossed neatly, flipping through mockup reports of the fake prototype. “We have planted enough bait. How long do you think she will take to bite?”Across from her, Julius stood by the window, phone in hand. His team had already pushed the rumor across every dark channel they knew Quella or rather Clea Jenkins, monitored.“Give her forty-eight hours,” Julius said, watching the skyline. “She is greedy, but not stupid. She will want to verify.”Miley smirked. “Good. We made the lie believable enough to tempt her and messy enough to make her think she is clever for spotting a
War !?
It was a rainless dusk in a city that glittered too much after dark all chrome and glass, hiding far too many secrets behind mirrored towers. Julius sat in the back of a black sedan, parked two blocks from the safehouse. His hands rested on his knees, but every muscle was wired, still as stone. Across from him sat a man in a tattered hoodie, one eye clouded with a cataract and the other too sharp.“She resurfaced,” the man rasped. “Did not take her long.”Julius did not flinch. “Name. What is the name?”“She is going by ‘Clea Jenkins’ now. Fake citizenship out of Malterra. Same cheekbones, new passport. She is not just hiding, Colton. She is working. Sabotage-for-hire on the black market.”Julius’s jaw flexed. “Give me the client list.”The man hesitated. “Not written down. But I can give you one name.”Julius leaned forward.“Some startup out of Kesslyn Port. Biotech kids. Young, full of money, no clue. She has wormed her way into their backend already.”“You are sure it’s her?”“I
She is gone.
The sun poured through the tall glass panels of the executive floor, casting long golden slants across polished floors and brushed steel. Miley sat across from her cousin in the smaller meeting room, the one with warm-toned walls and no recording equipment. It was her choice, a subtle attempt to create space for real conversation. And yet, for all the comfort in the decor, Miley’s posture was tense.Her cousin, Carina, was rambling recounting a harmless anecdote about a warehouse mix-up and laughing too loudly.Miley smiled faintly, but her eyes did not join in.“Something on your mind?” Carina asked, sipping her caramel coffee. She leaned forward, tilting her head. “You have been staring through me this whole time.”Before Miley could respond, the glass door swung open.Julius walked in with quiet authority, dressed in black-on-black, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight. In his hand was a thick folder, edges worn, tabs sticking out. He walked past both women and placed the folder squarely o
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