Aubree pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut. The bedroom plunged into absolute darkness.

She unzipped the hidden compartment of her canvas bag and pulled out a dense, matte-black metal cube. She pressed her thumb against a smooth indentation on the side. The cube clicked. The metal plates shifted, sliding apart and locking into place. Within seconds, it transformed into a military-grade terminal. A small holographic projector hummed to life.

Aubree reached under her shirt collar. She pulled out a silver necklace with a biometric microchip embedded in the pendant. She snapped it into the terminal's port. A ghostly blue light illuminated her face, reflecting in her cold, unblinking eyes.

Her fingers hit the virtual keyboard. They moved in a blur, typing a sixty-four-character dynamic encryption key. The system bypassed the NSA's baseline firewalls in less than three seconds. She was in the Dark Web.

Lines of code and multi-million dollar bounty contracts cascaded down the screen. Aubree ignored them. She switched her routing protocol to the private frequency of Morpheus, the legendary chess AI controller.

A highly encrypted email popped up. It carried the digital signature of Ellery Prescott—Sterling Prescott's grandfather and the patriarch of the Prescott empire.

Aubree opened it.

I've studied your last three matches against the European grandmasters. Your endgame strategy is unlike anything I've seen in forty years. I require a face-to-face match. Tomorrow night. Prescott Manor. Come as my personal guest.

Aubree stared at the screen. She tilted her head slightly. Ellery Prescott was known as a ruthless predator of Wall Street, but his private passion for chess was legendary among the elite. He had no idea Morpheus was an eighteen-year-old girl. And he certainly didn't know she was betrothed to his worthless grandson.

A faint, cold smile touched her lips. The gala would be the perfect stage to observe the Prescott family from the inside.

She opened a new terminal window and hacked into the Hopkins family's internal schedule. The calendar showed that Kennedy and her stepmother were desperately pulling favors to secure an invitation to the same gala.

Her smile sharpened.

She typed a quick reply to Ellery. A single line of code confirming her attendance.

Then, she switched her digital mask. She logged into the server as Monarch, the apex hacker, and opened a secure chat with Corvus, a top-tier information broker.

Pull the original NYPD crash reports from seven years ago. Eleanor Hopkins.

Corvus replied instantly. The physical archives were scrubbed three years ago. Someone burned the paper trail.

Aubree's stomach tightened. The conspiracy surrounding her mother's death ran much deeper than a simple brake failure. Her fingers flew across the keys, activating a dormant Trojan horse virus she had planted inside the servers of New York's top financial institutions. The data mining began.

Suddenly, a red warning light flashed on the corner of her terminal. The motion sensor outside her bedroom door had been tripped.

Aubree slapped the top of the terminal. The metal plates collapsed instantly, folding back into a harmless black cube. She shoved it under the mattress. She glided across the room without making a sound, pressed her back against the wall beside the door, and stopped breathing.

The brass doorknob slowly turned. It hit the lock mechanism with a soft, metallic click. The person outside paused. Heavy, muffled footsteps slowly backed away and faded down the hall.

Aubree recognized the heavy tread. Gaye's personal bodyguard.

She let out a slow, silent breath. She walked to the bare mattress and lay down in the dark, her mind already calculating the exact strategy she would deploy at the Prescott gala.

The Prescott Manor ballroom was a cathedral of wealth. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the sea of Manhattan's elite. A massive champagne tower stood in the center, catching the light like liquid diamonds.

Kennedy walked into the room. She wore a plunging red couture gown.

Sterling wore a custom tuxedo. His chin was tilted up in a permanent state of arrogance.

The crowd parted for them. They walked to the black Steinway grand piano near the balcony doors. They sat side-by-side and began to play a four-hand duet.

The music was technically perfect. The surrounding socialites stopped talking and clapped politely when they finished.

Kennedy stood up, pinching the skirt of her red dress to curtsy. She soaked in the adoring stares.

A group of wealthy women swarmed them.

"You two are absolutely flawless," one woman gushed. Then, she leaned in, lowering her voice. "Is it true? Did your father actually bring that feral sister of yours back from the country? I heard she doesn't even know how to use a knife and fork. What a disgrace."

Sterling's jaw tightened. A look of pure disgust flashed across his face.

"She is a violent liability," Sterling said loudly, making sure the surrounding crowd heard him. "I am having my lawyers draft the paperwork to dissolve that ridiculous childhood engagement immediately. I won't have my name tied to trash."

At that exact moment, the heavy oak double doors of the ballroom were pulled open by two guards.

The low hum of conversation near the entrance died instantly. The silence rippled through the massive room like a shockwave.

Aubree stepped over the threshold.

She wore a minimalist, black velvet haute couture gown. It clung to her athletic frame like liquid shadow. The slit ran high up her thigh, revealing the sharp, deadly curve of her leg. She wore no jewelry. Her slate-blue eyes swept over the room with absolute, chilling indifference, instantly overpowering all the gaudy finery in the room.

Kennedy's breath hitched. Her fingers dug painfully into Sterling's bicep. The triumphant smirk vanished, replaced by raw, burning jealousy.

Sterling stared. His mouth parted slightly. He had never seen a woman radiate such terrifying, predatory beauty.

"Who is that?" a woman whispered loudly.

Pippa, Kennedy's best friend, squinted. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god. That's Aubree."

The ballroom erupted into frantic whispers. The feral country girl was supposed to be a joke. Instead, she looked like she owned the building.

Aubree ignored the hundreds of staring eyes. She walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the champagne tower. She picked up a crystal flute of Dom Pérignon.

Kennedy felt her spotlight dying. She shot a desperate, vicious glare at Pippa.

Pippa nodded. She grabbed a full glass of dark red wine from a passing waiter. She marched aggressively toward Aubree's back.

Sterling frowned. He stepped forward, raising his hand to call security. He wanted Aubree thrown out before she ruined his night.

Aubree stood facing the tower. She didn't turn around.

Pippa closed the distance. When she was two feet away, she intentionally twisted her ankle. She let out a fake gasp and hurled the glass of red wine directly at the back of Aubree's pristine black velvet dress.

The dark liquid flew through the air in a violent arc. The surrounding socialites let out gleeful, suppressed gasps, waiting for the show.

The red wine was a fraction of a second away from ruining the velvet.

Aubree moved.

She didn't just step aside. She pivoted her torso with a terrifying, unnatural speed that seemed to violate the laws of physics. The arc of wine missed her dress by millimeters. The red liquid splashed violently onto the priceless Persian rug.

Pippa's momentum carried her forward. With her target gone, she lost her balance and pitched headfirst toward the floor.

Aubree didn't retreat. She stepped into Pippa's space. Her hand shot out and clamped around Pippa's wrist.

Aubree's eyes were dead. She used Pippa's own forward momentum, pulling her arm hard and swinging her body weight toward the towering glass structure of the champagne tower.

Pippa screamed in absolute terror. Her face was inches from shattering hundreds of crystal flutes.

At the very last millisecond, Aubree snapped her wrist. She redirected the kinetic energy, violently slinging Pippa away from the table and toward the open terrace doors.

Pippa stumbled wildly, her heels skidding across the marble floor. She crashed through the sheer curtains and spilled out onto the stone terrace.

Aubree held her glass of Dom Pérignon. Not a single drop had spilled. She walked slowly out onto the terrace.

The ballroom emptied as the socialites rushed to the doors to watch the carnage. Kennedy and Sterling pushed their way to the front of the crowd.

In the center of the terrace sat a massive, Roman-style marble fountain.

Pippa grabbed the stone edge of the fountain to keep from falling. She spun around, her face twisted in ugly rage.

"You psycho bitch!" Pippa shrieked, her voice echoing into the night. "You belong in a cage!"

Aubree walked right up to her. She looked down at Pippa like she was a stain on the pavement.

Aubree raised her crystal flute. She tilted her wrist.

The freezing, golden champagne poured directly over Pippa's perfectly styled hair. It ran down her face, stinging her eyes.

Pippa shrieked and brought her hands up to wipe her face.

Aubree's left hand shot out, clamping down onto Pippa's shoulder with bone-crushing force to lock her in place. Aubree lifted her leg. The sharp toe of her stiletto drove directly into the back of Pippa's knee joint.

Pippa's leg buckled instantly. Her center of gravity collapsed. She fell backward over the stone edge.

A massive splash soaked the terrace. Pippa thrashed in the waist-deep, freezing water. Her expensive dress clung to her skin like a wet garbage bag. She gasped for air, spitting out fountain water.

The crowd was dead silent. The sheer physical brutality of the retaliation left them paralyzed.

Kennedy covered her mouth, letting out a dramatic, trembling gasp. "Aubree! How could you?"

Sterling's face turned purple with rage. He stormed out onto the terrace, pointing a shaking finger at Aubree.

"You are a savage!" Sterling roared. He turned to the shadows. "Security! Grab this lunatic and call the police!"

Four massive men in black suits pushed through the crowd. They surrounded Aubree, cutting off her escape routes.

Aubree didn't flinch. She set her empty crystal flute on the edge of the fountain. She pulled a silk napkin from a nearby table and slowly, methodically, wiped the moisture from her fingers.