The night had grown unusually silent too silent for the city that never truly slept. As Elias Thorne stood by the towering window of his penthouse suite, overlooking the sharp silhouettes of Draxon's corporate skyline, his mind swam in uncertainty. The moonlight splashed silver over his broad shoulders, casting a long shadow across the polished floors. He wasn't sure what woke him the silence, or something deeper. Something stirring.
There was a knock.
Not hesitant. Not abrupt. Purposeful.
He turned slowly, robe brushing his ankles. The door creaked open before he could answer. Magritte stepped in, dressed in a sleek black turtleneck and slacks, her figure framed by the golden hallway light behind her.
"I thought you might be awake," she said, her voice cool as chilled wine, yet soft as velvet.
He exhaled, watching her. It had been weeks since the scandal the one she inadvertently aided by simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd explained, helped him clear it, and surprisingly stayed. Since then, their conversations had grown less formal… and far more dangerous.
"I couldn't sleep," Elias replied, voice hoarse from exhaustion and thought. "Did you come for something?"
Magritte approached, her eyes like twin blades, always calculating. "I came because we need to talk. About Jude. About the encrypted files you asked me to trace."
Elias stiffened. "Go on."
"They were altered," she said, now standing close enough to see the tired cracks in his composure. "By someone inside Draxon. And it leads back to Dexter Holdings."
His fists clenched.
"So this is more than sabotage," he murmured.
"It's a full-scale takedown attempt," Magritte confirmed. "And it's not just corporate. There are offshore accounts tied to your name you never opened. Someone's setting you up again."
He turned away, trying to reign in the storm swelling behind his ribs. That's when she stepped closer the warmth of her breath against his back.
"I don't want to lose you in all this," she whispered. "I know I was part of what dragged you down before. But I'm still here. You have to let someone be."
He turned, surprised by the sincerity that flickered behind her usual steel.
"What if I don't know how to let someone in?" he asked.
"Then let's start with this," she said and took his hand firm, steady, unapologetic.
They didn't kiss. Not yet. But something passed between them in that moment. A promise. An unspoken thread binding them tighter.
Suddenly sirens.
The window lit up in flashing red.
Elias rushed to the edge, heart hammering.
Flames licked the lower floors of the neighboring Draxon Research Center. A bomb. No mistake. The calculated explosion had targeted the data vault.
His phone buzzed.
A single message.
From an unknown number.
"Try again, and next time it won't be your building. – L"
Magritte's hand found his shoulder. "Who's L?"
He stared into the fire, the smoke rising like an omen of war.
"Landon," he whispered. "He's making his move."
The storm had begun.
The elevator ride down was brutal in its silence. Magritte stood next to Elias, arms crossed, her mind visibly racing. Elias's jaw was locked, teeth grinding with every floor they descended.
"Jude will be at the vault," he said, his voice edged with steel. "If he's alive."
"Don't talk like that," Magritte snapped. "You're not losing anyone tonight."
When the elevator dinged open, they were greeted by chaos. Emergency lights flickered through the lobby as smoke seeped in from the research wing. Security scrambled to cordon off the blast zone. A wave of heat hit them even from a distance.
Elias pushed through the crowd, Magritte at his heels. Firefighters shouted orders. A wall had caved in near the primary server room. Data decades worth was burning.
But Jude wasn't among the victims.
A voice crackled over the comms.
"This is unit 2. We found one survivor unconscious in the stairwell. ID confirms: Jude Morrison."
Elias exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Where is he?"
"En route to private med," the officer replied.
Magritte nodded. "You go to him. I'll handle security feeds. Someone had to walk into that building to plant the device."
Elias didn't argue. He ran.
Private Medical Suite, 45 Minutes Later, Jude looked like hell. Bandaged, bruised, and half-conscious, but alive. Elias sat beside him, hand gripping the rail.
"You have to wake up," Elias muttered. "I need you, Jude. We're not done yet."
A groan.
Jude stirred. "Boss…?"
"I'm here."
"They knew…" Jude coughed. "Knew the backup terminals… the exact wiring routes. Only insiders could know that."
"Dexter Holdings?"
"No. Someone… else. Someone new."
Elias frowned. "Who?"
Jude's fingers twitched, struggling to reach for something on the tray beside the bed. Elias handed him the pen. He scribbled a name on a pad with shaking hands.
Magritte,Elias's blood ran cold.
Penthouse, Hours Later, She was waiting.
He entered, drenched from the rain, coat slung over his shoulder. Her eyes were sharp, unreadable.
"Where were you?" she asked.
"Hospital."
"How's Jude?"
"He woke up."
Something shifted in her gaze.
"He said something strange," Elias continued. "He said the wiring plans were known by an insider. Then he gave me a name."
Magritte's lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
Elias reached into his coat and dropped the notepad on the table.
"Magritte."
Silence thickened between them.
Then she smiled.
But it wasn't soft. It was sad. Bitter. As if she'd waited too long for this moment.
"I didn't betray you, Elias," she said. "But I didn't tell you everything either."
He stared.
"I used to work for Landon. Years ago. Before I knew who he really was. Before I knew what he was building."
"You helped him?"
"No," she said sharply. "I left. But he never left me. He's been watching me using me to get to you."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I thought I could fix it from the inside. Because I didn't trust you yet."
Silence again.
Then she stepped forward.
"I'm not his anymore, Elias. But he's coming. And if we don't stop him soon, there won't be anything left of Draxon."
For a long moment, he looked at her. Then nodded.
"We do it together," he said.
But in the back of his mind, doubt lingered.
And outside, in the shadows of the city, Landon Crick lit a cigar, watching the flickering flames of Draxon's tower.
He smiled.
"Let the games begin."