Haylee stood perfectly still by the espresso machine. The ceramic cup in her hand was warm, grounding her.

Cynthia was screaming at a young lounge attendant.

"This is lukewarm!" Cynthia shrieked. She slammed the cup down onto the attendant's tray. Dark coffee splashed across the girl's white uniform. Cynthia didn't even blink.

In the booth, Leo tapped the screen of his tablet. He raised the device, snapped a quick, high-definition photo of Cynthia's distorted, screaming face from across the room, and used a drawing app to quickly sketch a fat pink pig nose over her features. He hit send, dropping the edited image directly to Haylee's phone with a vomiting emoji attached.

Haylee felt her phone buzz. She glanced at the screen, a cold smirk touching her lips.

She picked up her coffee and stepped out from behind the plants. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

Cynthia was opening her mouth to yell again when she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She turned her head, irritated.

Cynthia's eyes locked onto Haylee's face.

The color drained from Cynthia's cheeks in an instant. She stumbled backward, her high heel catching on the carpet. She crashed into a leather chair, knocking it over.

Her bodyguards rushed forward, but Cynthia pushed them away, her hands shaking violently as she pointed at Haylee.

"You..." Cynthia stammered, her voice cracking with raw terror. "Haylee?"

Haylee took a slow sip of her coffee. Her eyes swept over Cynthia like she was looking at a stain on the floor.

"It's been a long time, Cynthia," Haylee said, her American accent crisp and lethal. "You still lack basic manners."

The shock wore off, replaced instantly by a toxic, burning jealousy. Cynthia stared at Haylee's flawless skin, her expensive clothes, the sheer aura of power radiating from her.

Cynthia straightened up, forcing a loud, mocking laugh. "Look who crawled out of the ocean! You disappeared like a stray dog, and now you're sneaking into VIP lounges?"

People in the lounge turned their heads. Cynthia's PR assistant, Otto, immediately pulled out his phone, ready to record.

Haylee didn't flinch at the camera. She looked Cynthia up and down.

"You still use screaming to hide your ignorance, just like five years ago," Haylee said, her voice carrying clearly across the room. "It seems the Bowen family's education level hasn't grown alongside their wealth."

Cynthia's face turned a violent shade of red. She screamed for security. "Get her out! She's a thief! She sneaked in here!"

Two large airport security guards jogged over, their expressions stern. They looked at Haylee. "Ma'am, I need to see your VIP credentials."

Cynthia crossed her arms, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face. "Record this, Otto. Send it to Page Six."

Haylee calmly set her coffee cup down. She reached into her bag for the Aethelred Group invitation.

Before her fingers could touch the paper, the heavy double doors of the lounge were shoved open.

Two men in black suits stepped inside, followed by an older man in a pristine, tailored suit. His silver hair was slicked back. He carried an air of absolute, suffocating authority.

Bertram. The head butler of the Keith family.

The security guards froze, instantly recognizing the man who represented the most powerful family in New York.

Cynthia's eyes lit up. She thought Bertram was there for her. She pushed past her assistants, plastering on a sickly sweet smile. "Mr. Bertram! I didn't expect-"

Bertram walked right past her. He didn't even look at her.

He stopped directly in front of Haylee.

In front of the entire staring lounge, the man who commanded billionaires bowed deeply at the waist.

"Dr. Mathews," Bertram said, his voice echoing in the dead silence. "Welcome back to New York. Mr. Benedict sent me to escort you."

The lounge stopped breathing.

Cynthia's jaw dropped. Her eyes bulged as if she had been physically struck.

The security guards went pale, stepping back quickly, sweat beading on their foreheads.

Haylee gave a slight nod. She turned her head slowly, letting her eyes rest on Cynthia's frozen, horrified face.

Cynthia lost her mind. "No! You have the wrong person!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Haylee. "She's a fake! She's bankrupt!"

Bertram turned his head. His eyes were like ice.

"Madam, watch your tone," Bertram said softly, but the threat was deafening. "Dr. Mathews is the most honored guest of the Aethelred Group."

Bertram raised a single finger.

His two bodyguards stepped forward. They grabbed Cynthia by the arms and shoved her back roughly.

Cynthia's ankle twisted. She fell hard onto the carpet, her sunglasses flying off, her hair falling into a messy tangle over her face.

Haylee looked down at her, let out a soft scoff, and turned her back. She walked toward Leo's booth, leaving Cynthia humiliated on the floor.

Haylee reached the booth and held out her hand. Leo slipped his small hand into hers, adjusting the straps of his high-tech backpack with his free hand.

Behind them, Cynthia scrambled to her knees. Otto tried to help her up, but she slapped his hand away.

"She stole my bracelet!" Cynthia screamed, her voice shrill and desperate. "Check her bag! She's a thief!"

Haylee stopped walking. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She turned around, looking at Cynthia as if she were a pathetic insect.

Bertram's face darkened. The insult to a Keith family guest was unforgivable.

He pulled a radio from his jacket. "Lock down the lounge," he ordered the airport's head of security.

Bertram turned to Cynthia, his posture rigid. "Since you have made an accusation of theft, Madam, we will conduct a full public search of your belongings to clear Dr. Mathews's name."

Cynthia's face went from red to a sickly, translucent white. "No! I... I might have left it at home. Don't touch my bag!"

She lunged for her Birkin, but Bertram's bodyguards were faster.

One of the men grabbed the bag and tipped it upside down over the marble table.

Makeup, keys, and a heavy, unmarked orange pill bottle spilled out. The cap popped off. Dozens of illegal prescription pills scattered across the floor.

The surrounding passengers gasped. Otto buried his face in his hands. Cynthia's career was dead.

Haylee didn't stay to watch the rest of the meltdown. She turned and followed Bertram out the private exit.

A sleek, extended black Maybach was idling at the VIP curb.

Ridge Mason, the Keith family driver, opened the heavy door. Haylee guided Leo in first, then slid onto the plush leather seat.

The door closed, instantly cutting off the noise of the airport. Ridge put the car in drive, and they merged onto the highway toward Manhattan.

The moment they were alone, Leo dropped his serious expression. He crawled across the seat and buried his face in Haylee's stomach.

Haylee's cold exterior melted. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his hair, breathing in his scent.

Leo pulled back and grabbed his tablet. "Look," he said proudly.

He played a video. It was a high-definition recording he had taken on his tablet of Cynthia falling on her face, the pills rolling everywhere.

Haylee shook her head, a genuine smile touching her lips. "You recorded the whole meltdown? Good job, but be careful."

Leo swiped the screen. The video vanished, replaced by a dense dossier provided by John's intelligence team. A photo of a man with sharp features, a strong jaw, and piercing gray eyes filled the screen.

Benedict Keith. CEO of the Aethelred Group.

"This is your new boss," Leo said, tapping the screen. "He looks mean. You need to be careful, Mom."

So this was the face behind the name. Six years of encrypted emails, terse progress reports routed through intermediaries, occasional brief calls coordinated by Sam Rivers—and she had never once laid eyes on Benedict Keith's photograph. She had never asked. The arrangement had always been strictly professional, deliberately remote. She had preferred it that way.

Now she understood why.

Haylee stared at the photo. Her heart gave a strange, violent thump against her ribs. A phantom smell of herbal scent and sweat flashed through her mind. She rubbed her collarbone, feeling a sudden chill.

She pushed the feeling down. "He's just a businessman, Leo. I have the Chimera data. He needs me."

The Maybach glided into the city. The towering skyscrapers of Manhattan reflected in Haylee's eyes.

She picked up the car's secure phone and dialed her brother, John Slater.

"Are the lawyers ready?" she asked.

"Waiting on your word," John replied, his voice steady.

Leo reached over and handed her a warm, damp towel from the console. Haylee wiped the coffee residue from her fingers, her eyes softening as she looked at her son.

"We are approaching Aethelred Headquarters, Dr. Mathews," Ridge announced through the intercom.

Haylee looked out the window. The massive glass and steel tower pierced the sky.

She took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of her blazer. She pinned her silver ID badge to her lapel.

The car stopped in the private underground garage. Haylee pushed the door open, her heels hitting the concrete. The war was about to begin.

Haylee left Leo in a secure, luxury waiting room on the ground floor, flanked by two of John's private security guards.

She walked alone toward the executive elevator.

The doors slid open. Sam Rivers, the executive secretary, stood waiting. He smiled politely, scanning Haylee's retina and fingerprint to grant her access.

The elevator shot upward at a dizzying speed. The sudden weightlessness made Haylee's stomach drop, but she kept her spine perfectly straight.

The doors parted, revealing a massive, minimalist floor. The cold gray and black tones felt like the inside of a weapon.

Sam led her to a set of heavy walnut doors. He knocked once.

"Enter," a deep, resonant voice commanded from inside.

Haylee's breath hitched. The sound of that voice sent a sharp jolt of electricity down her spine. Her fingers twitched, but she pushed the door open.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with his back to her, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline.

Hearing her heels, Benedict Keith turned around.

His piercing gray eyes locked onto hers like a sniper finding his mark.

The air in the room instantly thickened. Benedict stared at her face. A violent, inexplicable sense of familiarity hit him in the chest. He felt like he had looked into those defiant eyes in the pitch black.

His jaw clenched. He forced the irrational thought away and walked to his massive desk, sitting down.

Haylee sat in the leather chair opposite him. She didn't break eye contact.

Benedict didn't smile. He tossed a thick contract onto the desk. "Dr. Mathews. Your resume is flawless, but Aethelred doesn't fund hobbies."

Haylee opened the file. She scanned the numbers, her eyes narrowing.

"Your R&D budget allocation is a joke," Haylee said flatly.

She rattled off a series of complex data models, tearing apart the conservative financial plan his CFO had drafted. She spoke with absolute authority, her voice cutting through the quiet room.

Benedict's eyes narrowed. He was used to people sweating in this chair. Her aggressive, brilliant pushback sent a thrill of genuine respect through him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his presence suffocating. "You're asking for a blank check. What if Chimera fails?"

Haylee let out a cold laugh. She leaned in, matching his intensity. "I don't fail. If you don't have the stomach for this, I'll take the patent to your competitors."

Sam, standing by the door, sucked in a sharp breath.

Benedict stared at her for three agonizing seconds. Then, a low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest.

He picked up his Montblanc pen and signed his name across the bottom of the contract, approving every demand.

He slid the paper across the desk. "You win, Director. But I want clinical breakthroughs in three months."

Haylee signed her name with a quick, sharp motion. "You'll have them in one."

She handed the contract back. As Benedict took it, his fingers brushed against hers.

A violent spark of static electricity snapped between them.

Both of them jerked slightly. Benedict's eyes shot up, landing on the base of Haylee's neck.

A faint, jagged scar rested just above her collarbone.

Benedict's pupils dilated. His heart hammered against his ribs. The memory of a woman thrashing under him, of skin tearing, flooded his mind.

He opened his mouth to speak.

The heavy doors flew open, slamming against the wall.

A woman in a Chanel suit burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. Kaylie Holder.

Kaylie ignored Haylee completely. She threw herself over the edge of Benedict's desk, sobbing loudly.

"Benedict! You have to do something!" Kaylie cried.