Crossed Lines

Chapter 3

Damon’s POV

The view from my penthouse didn’t change, but I liked it that way.

A sweep of Seattle’s skyline under a silver sky, predictable, orderly. Unlike people.

I set my coffee cup on the counter as Ethan and my private investigator, Miles, took their seats at the dining table I rarely used for dining. Both wore the same expression: the careful, measured look of men bringing me bad news.

“Tell me you have something,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

Miles opened a folder. “We’ve traced five different aliases connected to ShadowByte over the past three years. All of them are ghosts, burner email accounts, encrypted payment trails, and server activity that bounces between continents. Whoever they are, they know how to disappear.”

Ethan slid a second document toward me. “We thought we had a location yesterday; Berlin. Logged activity, digital signature match, even a pattern consistent with their known work hours.”

“And?” I asked.

“It was a decoy,” Ethan admitted. “By the time we tried to dig deeper, the server was wiped. Completely. No data, no access logs, nothing. Almost like they knew we were looking… and decided to make a point.”

I studied them both. The frustration in the room was almost tangible, but I felt something else.

Amusement.

“They erased their own trail in real time?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “The second we got close, they were already shutting it down.”

I smiled, though it was more a slow curl of the mouth than anything warm. “Interesting.”

Miles frowned. “With enough time and money, we’ll find her----”

“You won’t,” I said flatly. “Not unless they want you to. This isn’t just a search; it’s a game. And games like this?” I tapped the table lightly. “You don’t win by playing the board. You win by rewriting the rules.”

They exchanged a look.

I stood, turning toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere out there, ShadowByte was watching us watch them. That alone told me there weren’t like any I’d dealt with before.

And if there’s one thing I didn’t do, it was walk away from a challenge.

** ** ** **

The next morning

The glass walls of Damon’s office caught the early morning sunlight, refracting it across the sleek lines of CrossTech's’s top floor. It wasn’t warmth that filled the space, but a calculated brilliance ; clean surfaces, strategic artwork, the faint hum of the server core two floors below.

He sat behind his desk, sharp in a black suit, reviewing quarterly numbers he already knew by heart. Nothing slipped past him. Not in business. Not in life.

A discreet knock preceded Ethan Voss, CrossTech’s COO, stepping inside. Where Damon’s presence was all steel and edges, Ethan’s was precise, deliberate.A man who didn’t waste words, who could match Damon’s pace without stumbling.

“Update on our elusive hacker,” Ethan said, placing a slim file on the desk.

Damon didn’t reach for it immediately. “You sound almost impressed.”

“I am,” Ethan admitted. “We traced one of ShadowByte’s digital footprints to a dormant U.S. bank account. Thought we had something… but it was wiped clean while our systems were still accessing it. It’s like they knew we were there.”

Damon finally opened the file, a collection of dead ends. Each false lead was executed so perfectly it was almost elegant.

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “They’re better than I expected.”

Ethan studied him. “You want me to bring in another team? Discreet specialists?”

“No,” Damon said, closing the file with deliberate calm. “I’ll handle this. Expand the search parameters. Track anomalies and patterns that aren’t obvious.”

Ethan’s brow lifted slightly. “That could take a while.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Damon said. “Decoding the data won't be as easy as stealing it.”

POV: Clarisse Duval

The morning sunlight spilled across the marble floor of the Duval estate’s breakfast room, catching on crystal glasses and polished silver. Clarisse sat at the head of the long table, posture flawless, hair in soft waves that cost a small fortune to maintain. She stirred her coffee slowly, not because it needed stirring, but because power was in the pauses.

Across from her, Ava scrolled through her phone, long nails tapping against the screen. “The gala committee confirmed my place on the guest list,” she said, without looking up.

Clarisse smiled faintly. “Of course they did, darling. You’re a Duval.”

A pause. Not entirely true, of course. Elara was the real Duval blood. But Clarisse would never say it aloud. A woman didn’t keep her position in this world by admitting to inconvenient truths.

Her husband, Elara’s father was upstairs, still sleeping. He’d been… distracted lately. Weaker, somehow. Clarisse hated weakness. It created gaps for others to slip through, and she had spent her entire adult life sealing gaps.

“Mother,” Ava said suddenly, lowering her phone, “did you see the news about CrossTech? They’re hosting a tech symposium next month. All the top names will be there.”

Clarisse arched a brow. “And what does that have to do with us?”

Ava’s lips curved. “Connections. We need more. Father’s ventures aren’t what they used to be, and you know it. If we could… align ourselves with someone like Damon Cross, things would change.”

Damon Cross. Clarisse had heard the name; billionaire, elusive, rumored to be as ruthless as he was brilliant.

She set her cup down with deliberate care. “Interesting. But billionaires don’t align themselves with just anyone.”

Ava tilted her head. “Maybe. But billionaires do notice pretty women.”

Clarisse regarded her daughter. Ava was beautiful, yes. But beauty alone was a blunt instrument. To wield it effectively, you needed precision. Patience. A plan.

“Elara still lives here in the city,” Clarisse murmured, almost to herself.

Ava’s expression soured. “Why bring her into this?”

Clarisse’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Because, my dear, she has doors open to her that will never open to us. All we need to do is… make sure she remembers her family responsibilities.”

She stood, smoothing the silk of her dressing gown. “I think it’s time we paid Elara a little visit.”

And in her mind, Clarisse was already laying the first tile in a trap her stepdaughter wouldn’t see coming at least not until it was far too late.