Chapter 2 Below the surface

Chapter 2

Below the Surface,

Rodrick stood on the balcony of his penthouse suite, the soft clink of ice against glass barely masking the unrest brewing inside him. His instinct for clarity had been broken by Elena, Mira, or whoever she was. The air between them was now buzzing with questions that neither of them could afford to answer. He recalled the gala moment in his mind, including her stiffened posture and her darting eyes toward the servers as if they were searching for danger. not ambiguity. Recognition. She had detected something. something actual Inside, Elena paced, barefoot on the cold marble tiles, heart hammering with memories she'd buried deep. Accounts offshore. Routes for trafficking. Zanzibar. Kirana. Too vividly, the whispered conversation's words echoed. Since she left that world, changed her appearance, and buried her name, she hadn't considered those names in years. Despite this, the past had discovered her in the most extravagant of disguises. Rodrick entered once more. He stated bluntly, "You flinched at the word Kirana." Elena froze.

"That's not something tourists do."

She turned, mask slipping just slightly. "You're looking for answers in shadows, Rodrick. Take care. Shadows reflect back. However, he was not a man to be scared easily. "I performed a sweep. You're a ghost. No family, no history, and a clean ID. Even ghosts leave behind marks. "And yet, here I am." Her voice had a slight crack. "Real enough for you."

Their gazes locked, suspicion in conflict with desire. Their arrangement's cloak of professionalism was rapidly falling away. Every touch now hummed with danger. A dare in every glance. Rodrick moved closer. "You must inform me if you are in trouble." She said in a low voice, "I can't." "And I will not." The silence thickened the room. Music from the beach below pulsed through the night outside. They didn't, however, hear it. Rodrick wasn't sure whether he wanted to keep her safe or show her the truth. Additionally, Elena was unsure whether to stay or flee. A camera then clicked across the street in the shadows. A lens withdrew.

They weren't on their own. Someone else was watching.

Furthermore, the already perilous game had just begun. Elena Cruz had always been covered in soul-smothering masks, not face-covering ones. At 29, she had already brought down two arms-dealing cartels, exposed a child trafficking ring in Romania, and vanished from three countries with different aliases. Yet here in Barcelona, under the golden veil of dusk, she was no longer certain who she really was.

Her assignment was clear: infiltrate Rodrick Vale's inner circle, seduce him if necessary, and leak enough intel to bring his empire to its knees. He wasn't just another criminal, either. He was an illusionist in plain sight-a philanthropist, tech magnate, and global influencer whose corruption thrived in shadows. Elena's organization, Lucerna, operated without borders or national allegiances. Truth was the only creed, and Rodrick Vale's truth was harmful. She first met him at a private auction along the coast. Elena wore a backless black dress, her chestnut hair curled in loose waves, lips red as sin. He had the instinct of a hunter to distinguish between beauty and danger, so he caught her before she even entered the room. When their gazes met, something in her faltered for a moment. A flicker. A breath.

"Do you like the collection?" he asked, his voice like velvet over broken glass.

She replied, sipping her wine without looking at him, "I prefer things that can't be bought." He grinned. "Then you must be a prized possession." At the time, she was aware that he posed a threat to both her mission and the outside world. Despite this, she accepted his invitation that evening to his private villa in the guise of discussing "philanthropic ventures." Rodrick was euphoric. Not just in bed, where he made her forget the icy lines of strategy, but also in the way he talked about architecture, art, and power's fragility. He was a genius. He was brutal. He kissed her like he was trying to forget about her. The next day faded into the previous. It was planted with surveillance equipment. Talks were recorded. photographs of documents. But somewhere along the way, Elena's sharp lines softened. She started asking questions she shouldn't: Was he truly guilty? Could someone that tender in the dark be so ruthless in the light?

Worse still, was she in love with the man she was sent to kill? It took place on a Tuesday. Elena slipped through Rodrick's secondary office's service door as rain lashed the Gothic Quarter's narrow alleyways. She had forty-seven minutes. sufficient time to crack the lock on his private safe. Inside was a flash drive. Red. The name is Hesperia. As she plugged it into her hidden reader, names, dates, and accounts from encrypted files began to appear on her screen. Linked offshore transfers to Panama, Lagos, and Syria-based shell companies Arms deals disguised as aid shipments. It was damning. It was everything Lucerna needed.

Then she heard a voice.

"Elena?"

Rodrick stood by the doorway, no umbrella, rain dripping from his collar. He held no weapon. merely confusion. Sadness.

Her pulse erupted. "You weren't supposed to be here."

"I could say the same for you." His eyes dropped to the safe. "That is my personal archive." She whispered, "I know." They exchanged blank stares. The silence was piercing. Rain thudded against the windows like a slow drumbeat of war.

"Are you even real?" He inquired. "I was. I am."

He took a step forward. "Was any of it true?"

A part of her wanted to scream yes. But the truth didn't live in the black-and-white world she came from. The truth was a gray fog that clung to her like smoke.

"I don't know," she said.

"Then maybe I should show you mine."

Rodrick turned away, entered a string of commands into his tablet. The nearby screen lit up with satellite footage, government memos, private correspondences. The files weren't of arms deals-but of counter-operations. Intel from corrupt NATO officers, political bribes, and an internal leak inside Lucerna.

Elena's breath caught.

"You think I'm the villain," Rodrick said. But what if I'm the only one who is aware that the system has already failed? He walked to her, touching her arm. "You have the option of burning me. However, once the fire has subsided, consider, "Who put me here?" She did not return my call. Later, in her safehouse, she watched the footage again. Her fingers were shaking as she felt it. Nothing was as it seemed-not Rodrick, not Lucerna, and certainly not herself.

As she stood in front of Victor, her handler, Elena felt her hands shake. His jaw tightened when she hesitated to hand over the drive.

"You have the evidence. Why are you holding back? She said, "Because something's off." "He has documents on us-real documents. He knows about the Lagos extraction, about the intercepted Balkan shipment. Things he shouldn't know."

Victor narrowed his eyes. "You've been compromised." "No," she said too quickly. Then again, quieter. "Maybe."

"You fell for him," he accused. "You did the one thing we don't do."

Elena tightened her hands. "He's not what we thought," we said. "He is worse." The room was suffocating. She was consumed by a storm of her mission, pride, and identity. "I need more time," she said finally.

Victor leaned forward, his voice ice. "You have two days. I'll take either his or your head. That night, Rodrick appeared outside her safehouse. soaked once more. Silent. Waiting.

She let him in.

No words No plans. Just the chaos of two people clinging to a truth they couldn't name. As if in desperate confession, her hands swept across his body. His lips whispered apologies against her shoulder that neither believed.

He was gone in the morning. So was the red flash drive.

Elena stared at the empty case, heart pounding. Had she betrayed him?

Or had she betrayed herself?