By His Rules

Chapter 4:Midnight Terms

The 83rd floor wasn’t listed on the elevator directory.

Rhea tapped her ID card.

Nothing.

She tried again, this time pressing the magnetic strip hidden inside her bracelet against the panel. Caspian’s private system ran on military-grade encryption.

But even military walls had cracks.

Elle had taught her how to find them.

A soft beep.

The doors whispered open.

She stepped into darkness.

No lights. Just the ambient glow of Manila’s skyline bleeding through the glass wall. The floor felt more like a private lounge than an office—dark velvet, a single grand piano, and a long table lined with crystal decanters of amber liquor.

Genevieve Aragon was already waiting.

Draped in wine-red silk, perched on the edge of the piano bench, her legs crossed like a queen off-duty.

“I wondered if you’d come,” she said, not turning.

“You don’t strike me as someone who wonders,” Rhea replied.

Genevieve smiled faintly. “Good. You’re learning.”

Rhea didn’t sit.

Genevieve poured herself a drink with practiced grace. “Most women in your position burn out by week two. Some get bought. Some get buried.”

“And me?”

“You’re still deciding which path is profitable.” A sip. “I respect that.”

Rhea stepped forward, but not too close. “Why am I here?”

“To ask a better question,” Genevieve said. “What do you want, Rhea Esquivel?”

Rhea didn’t answer.

So Genevieve did it for her.

“You want truth. And power. But you haven’t decided which comes first.” She looked up. “That’s dangerous.”

Rhea’s voice was steady. “You mentioned my father.”

“No,” Genevieve said. “I mentioned the dead. You assumed which one.”

A pause.

Then, quieter. Curious.

“Did you ever wonder why a man with classified clearance died broke and disgraced—without a single government official stepping forward to claim his body?”

Rhea’s throat tightened. “You know what happened to him.”

“I know what Caspian was asked to cover up. I know what Project Aeneas was really built to do. And I know who’s still using it.”

Genevieve rose, walking toward the glass wall.

“But truth is like fire. Beautiful. Dangerous. And it burns. So if I give it to you… what will you do with it?”

Rhea moved closer.

“I’ll bring them down.”

“Then you’ll die trying.”

“Maybe.”

Genevieve turned, studied her. “You’re bold. I admire that. But boldness isn’t survival. Knowing who to use—and when—is.”

She placed a card on the table between them.

No name. Just a symbol.

An ouroboros. A serpent devouring its own tail.

“Vale isn’t your enemy,” Genevieve said. “But he’s not your savior either. He’s the system. Cold. Exacting. Incomplete without something to lose.”

Rhea stared at the card.

“What is this?”

“A door,” Genevieve said. “And a test.”

“A test to what?”

“To whether you’ll survive this city—or become part of its silence.”

The elevator dinged.

Genevieve was already walking away.

“Be careful what truths you dig up, Rhea,” she said without turning. “Some of them were buried for a reason.”

And then she was gone.

Rhea stood alone in the dark.

Glass reflecting the city—and the woman she was becoming.

Below her, somewhere in the building, Caspian Vale was likely still awake.

Watching.

Waiting.

And now she had to decide—

Would she walk through the door Genevieve had just opened?

Or light the whole place on fire?