UNHALLOWED

9 A Black Hole

CHAPTER 9

A Black Hole

High above the Atlantic, the glamorous “Global Pop Icon” had been traded for a version of Rory that the paparazzi never saw. Curled up in the plush leather seat of her private jet, she was a study in comfort, swallowed by the oversized softness of her favorite baggy black hoodie and matching sweatpants.

Her eyes were practically glued to the screen, unable to process the figure staring back at her. Malphas had transferred a staggering five million dollars into her account—all for a mere two or three hours of breakfast at a luxury restaurant, where, especially considering he had already covered the bill for the high-end meal.

She could not help but marvel at the true extent of his influence. If he was willing to drop that kind of fortune on a whim, simply for the woman his adorable little daughter absolutely adored, she wondered what else a man of his means was capable of.

As the jet continued cruise toward the United States, Rory turned her complete attention on the glow of her laptop screen, but her true attention was reserved for the bowl of dark red, spicy noodles in her lap. She slurped them with a sense of defiant relish; this was her forbidden ritual. Her vocal coach enforced a strict ‘no spice’ policy during active tour legs to protect her throat, so having a mid-tour break meant finally indulging in the heat she craved. Each fiery bite was a small rebellion, a way to ground herself after a morning that had felt more like a fever dream than a business meeting.

“Riss,” Rory called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the jet’s engines.

A few seats away, Marissa was hunched over her own laptop, a portrait of focused chaos. She was currently playing Tetris with Rory’s upcoming itinerary, trying to massage a series of sudden logistical shifts into a schedule that was already stretched thin.

“Hmm?” Marissa hummed, her fingers flying across the keys as she drafted a polite but firm ‘no’ to a brand endorsement Rory had already shot down. She did not even look up.

“That VIP… the one I had breakfast with two days ago,” Rory started, her tone forcedly casual. She leaned over her keyboard, her fingers moving with purpose as if she were crafting a profound lyric or a pressing email. In reality, she was just hammering random keys into the Google search bar, filling the search bar with a string of gibberish—dslkjekrt JDkejr DKJFjpefbas ffskb—just to look occupied.

“Yeah? What about him?”

“Do you happen to know his… well, his full name?” Rory asked, her gaze fixed intently on her screen of nonsense. She did not want to admit that the man’s face had been haunting her dreams or when she would just sip coffee or workout after she met him, or that the way his jaw had tightened when she said ‘no’ was still playing on a loop in her head, especially with the way he looked at her, intensely.

Marissa’s head snapped up instantly, her professional radar pinging. She fixed Rory with a curious look before turning back to her screen. “Well, if you are asking about the man who sent the formal inquiry—I am assuming he is the Chief of Staff or a high-level secretary—his name was…”

She began scrolling through a mountain of flagged messages, her trackpad clicking rhythmically. “Let us see,” she murmured, eyes scanning the headers until she finally landed on the original thread. “Here it is.”

To: business@rorydixon-official.com

From: j.graves@mdrk-holdings.com

Subject: PRIVATE INQUIRY: Exclusive Engagement Request – London

Dear Miss Dixon and Management Team,

Acting on behalf of the Executive, I am reaching out to request a private engagement during your upcoming stay in London. We are interested in hosting a private breakfast meet-and-greet following the final performance of your European leg. This request is specifically for someone, who is an admirer of your work.

We are prepared to offer a substantial appearance fee, the details of which are attached in the formal offer below. Furthermore, my Boss is prepared to provide the following for the duration of the engagement:

Venue Security: A full sweep and lockdown of a premier rooftop location of his choosing.

Logistics: Private, armored transport to and from the venue for you and your staff.

Discretion: A strictly enforced Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) for all staff involved, ensuring no press or public leaks.

My Boss is a man who values both time and excellence. We would appreciate a response regarding your availability and any specific needs for transactions. He is willing to pay for a hefty amount of downpayment..

We look forward to coordinating this special event.

Regards.

“Ah,” Marissa chirped, her finger tapping the trackpad as she finally located the correct thread. “J. Graves.”

“Jay?” Rory’s head snapped toward her assistant, her eyes widening. She immediately abandoned her keyboard-smashing charade. “Jay as in J-A-Y?”

Marissa shook her head, squinting at the fine print on her screen. “No, just the initial ‘J.’ Hold on... I think the company listed is MDRK Holdings?”

MDRK, Rory repeated internally. The letters felt heavy in her mind, clicking into place like the tumblers of a lock. She vividly recalled the way the man’s voice—smooth, dark, and dangerous—had vibrated when he introduced himself as Mordrake.

How in the world do you spell that name? She wondered in the back of her head. She had not seen it written down yet, but the phonetic weight of it was unmistakable.

M-D-R-K. Her heart gave a small, traitorous thud against her ribs. She quickly opened a fresh tab on her browser, her pulse quickening as she typed MDRK Holdings into the search bar, desperate to put a history to the face that had effectively dismantled her life in the span of a single breakfast.

“Why are you asking?” Marissa asked curiously. “Didn’t you say you met a very extraordinary fan that day?”

She nodded her head to response as her eyes met Marissa’s.

“Who was it?” Marissa asked curiously. “You never told me or anyone who it was.”

Rory’s memory from that day flashed back in the back of her head as his voice echoed loud and clear authoritatively, “Whoever you met here today—not a soul is to know about it. No one is to know about her. Not your management, not your security, not anyone outside this rooftop. Just you.”

“Just another adorable fan.” She responded casually, not disclosing anything.

“Political?” Marissa pushed on.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. Right away putting on her noise-cancelling headset, signalling to Marissa that she no longer wanted to talk more about it. She pressed the play button on her laptop as the song, ‘Somewhere I Belong’ automatically continued to play in her ears.

She clicked the first result that surfaced, https://www.google.com/search?q=mdrk-holdings.com, but the moment the page loaded, her internal alarm bells started ringing. As a woman whose entire brand was built on digital perfection and high-end aesthetics, she knew a shell when she saw one.

The site was a ghost—a poorly constructed digital mask. The font was generic, the stock photos of handshakes and skylines were grainy, and the “About Us” section was filled with vague corporate jargon that said absolutely nothing about what they actually did. It was a website designed to exist, but not to be looked at.

Suspicious, she cross-referenced the “Corporate Headquarters” listed in the footer. She pulled up Google Maps, expecting a glass skyscraper in London or a sleek office in Manhattan. Instead, the satellite view dropped her onto a dusty, sun-bleached street in a rural village in Costa Rica.

The “Global Headquarters” of MDRK Holdings was nothing more than a humble, brightly painted local bakery with a tin roof and a stray dog sleeping by the entrance.

A dry laugh escaped her throat. A man who dressed in bespoke suits and traveled with a paramilitary security detail did not run his empire out of a Costa Rican pastry shop. The man owned a fake company with a fake website; it was a black hole.

“Who was that man and how did he have that much money?” She wondered. Immediately she worried about who that little girl was. Holy s**t, a voice in the back of her head screamed.

Was that little girl kidnapped?