Zariah woke again, not from sound, but absence of it.
Silence used to comfort her. Now it threatened her. The calm in the penthouse no longer felt like protection—it felt curated, like a stage arranged moments before a performance where she wasn't allowed to know the script.
Dawn hadn't fully broken yet. The windows were still tinted in early-morning frost, the kind of light that's pale, colorless, undecided—suspended between night and day. It mirrored Adrian perfectly.
She stood at the window, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fists, steaming mug of unsweetened tea in hand. The bitterness coated her tongue, grounding her. She didn't need sugar; her life had enough false sweetness already.Inside her head reminding herself that she has to ask questions even though it's not allowed its time for her to be enlightened by Adrian.She felt she has every right to know what she signed for even if it will cost her life.She was ready to face her fears and face Adrian with her all.
Behind her, Adrian entered the room without announcing himself. No footfalls. No greeting. No hesitation. He was a man built like winter: quiet, cutting, inevitable. The air shifted around him differently, like molecules instinctively gave him space.
"You don't knock," Zariah said, eyes still locked on the glass.
Adrian stopped, glancing at her reflection. "I don't need to," he answered.
She huffed a humorless chuckle. "Arrogant."
"Accurate," he corrected.
She finally turned, arms crossed—not defensive, just deliberate. Her posture said I bend, but I don't fold.
Another vibration. Hidden sender. Photo. Text: We see you. Same threat signal.
Zariah tossed the phone onto the couch like it offended her personally. "Whoever this is, they're obsessed. And organized. They hacked elevator logs, personal comms… and your fancy security system like it was Wi-Fi password one-two-three."
Adrian's gaze remained level. But it darkened by a single percentage point—barely visible, yet unmistakable.
"They didn't hack it," he said.
Her brows snapped inward. "Then what was that? Blessing?"
"A greeting," he said. "From the ICE Network."
Zariah frowned deeper. "That sounds like a villain WhatsApp group."
"It is," Adrian said, loosening the top of his water bottle and taking a slow drink. "Minus the humour."
She rubbed her temples. "Talk to me like I'm broke, not dumb."
Adrian set the bottle down. "They don't infiltrate by breaking systems. They own the people who operate them. Janitors, security guards, fiber technicians, developers, delivery staff… the kind no one notices. They rewrite entrances without touching locks."
Zariah sank onto the couch. "So you're saying someone opened your elevator for them."
Adrian leaned against the desk, arms folded, broad shoulders quiet but authoritative. "Yes."
Zariah processed this the way she processed most tragedies in her life: eyes slightly narrowed, heartbreak swallowed like pills without water, logic kicking emotions out of the driver's seat long enough to function.
"So who exactly are these people?"
Adrian tossed the ICE file open again. But this time he didn't guide her through documents. He let her read—sink or swim.
Zariah flipped pages quickly.
Money trails routed through shell charities.
Blue assets tagged under "Cold Loans."
Surveillance authorization stamps.
Biological research classifications.
Private extraction orders.
Debt-host leverage contracts.
Names of elite brokers, all coded not written.
And one section that made her heart stall:
Debt Acquisition Program
Target Attachment Strategy
Human Leverage Binding by Matrimonial Proxy
She exhaled sharply. "Okay… this is not just about stealing formulas and shiny cards. This is about binding humans as collateral. Enemies? No. These are corporate ghosts buying people like debt portfolios."
Adrian said nothing. Which meant she was finally reading in the right language.
"Is that why you picked me?" she asked, voice quieter now. "Because I came pre-damaged with debt?"
Adrian finally moved. He sat across from her, elbows on knees, gaze drilling through her like a man who did interrogation without blinking.
"No," he said. "I picked you because you walked in front of my building bleeding economically, not emotionally. Most people cry. You calculate. Fear is temporary. Hunger is instructional. You were moldable, not manageable."
She leaned back, studying him.
"You talk like I'm clay," she said.
"And yet," Adrian responded, "you shaped yourself back before I ever met you."
Zariah looked down. "Not shaped. Surviving. One unpaid bill at a time."
He leaned back, allowing a second of silence—not cold, but intentional. Silence was his punctuation.
"But if they're hunting people now," she added, "then someone out there authorised my name into their system without me knowing."
"Possibly," Adrian said. "And that is your danger, not mine."
Zariah slapped both palms onto her knees, rising. "Then I want to know what faction of life I married into. Not the romance brochure. The risk policy."
Adrian's stare remained steady. "You want the full truth now?"
"Yes," she said. "If this is my new job description before death, I need onboarding."
Adrian almost smirked again. Almost. The ghost of it. A man made of scarcity rarely wasted emotion, even micro expressions.
He stood, motioning for her to follow.
The deepest lower floor of the tower wasn't a basement—it was a vault concealed under luxury, so normalized no resident ever questioned its existence. The corridor they entered was narrower, colder, technologically humming under the surface. Unlike upstairs, where danger was spiritual, unspoken—this floor whispered in machinery.
A retinal scanner blinked at Adrian. He didn't lean in. The system leaned toward him.
Green flash. Access allowed.
The door opened into a room filled with cold blue mapping grids, contact networks, and a long circular table engraved with one word running like a silent doctrine:
ICE
Zariah stepped forward. "What does ICE stand for?"
Adrian didn't sit. He stalked the table like it was a living thing.
"Information Control & Erasure."
Zariah scoffed a breath. "Erasure as in…?"
"As in," Adrian said, "the ability to remove digital footprints, biological patents, corporate identities, military contracts, and occasionally people who deserve to be legends but were born into shadows."
Her eyes widened. "And you're part of this?"
"I was raised into it," Adrian said. "I didn't choose it. I tried to incinerate it. But you can't burn winter. You can only scar it."
She exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the system grids on the ICE table.
"Then it means," she whispered, "you're the rogue son of a destroyed poison empire."
Adrian's silence said yes louder than shouting ever could.
She smiled faintly. Not comfort. Not affection. But respect edged in fear. "That's one hell of a dowry."
Adrian stepped closer to the mapping grid, flicking his fingers over the screen.
One region map zoomed in.
Zariah frowned. "What is that? Another hit list?"
"A branch," Adrian said. "Their recruitment point. The ICE Network is splitting operations. One unit is targeting assets. One is targeting formulas. And one," he added, pausing, "is now assigned to human leverage acquisition… beginning with you."
Zariah's blood chilled.
Adrian continued: "You escaped debt. But debt is how they found you. The network buys people by purchasing what chains them first."
Zariah exhaled sharply. "I owe the bank, not an underworld. What happens if they buy my debt?"
Adrian's eyes lifted from the screen again, cutting directly into hers.
"Then they own the paperwork that owns you," he said.
"And marriage?"
"That was their proxy test," Adrian said. "They wanted to confirm attachment strength. Last night proved you matter enough to pursue."
Zariah digested that bitterly. "Great. So now I'm a trending topic."
Adrian's finger tapped the grid again.
A coordinate lit up—rapidly pulsing like a cold target beacon.
"They already bought one of your liabilities," Adrian said.
"Which one?"
"The one titled family."
Zariah froze.
She knew what he meant: her relative hadn't just betrayed her financially. Their name was already collateral in a system she didn't know existed.