Seraphina tried to pretend it didn't bother her.
It was just data.
Just files.
She had rebuilt worse before.
But—
She stared at her laptop, jaw tight.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Every folder she checked was empty. Every backup she tried to access… gone.
Not corrupted.
Not hidden.
Gone.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.
"Okay… that's new."
And she hated new.
By morning, she had convinced herself it was fixable.
By afternoon, she knew it wasn't.
Whoever had wiped her system didn't just delete files.
They understood her.
Every backup location. Every hidden folder. Every offline copy she thought was untouchable.
They found all of it.
That realization sat heavily in her chest.
Because that meant—
This wasn't random.
This was targeted.
At her.
Seraphina stood up, pacing her apartment.
"Think," she muttered.
There had to be something left behind. Something they missed.
People always missed something.
Even the best.
She stopped suddenly, her eyes flicking back to the laptop.
Unless…
"They didn't miss anything," she said quietly.
"Maybe they just left what they wanted me to see."
A small chill ran down her spine.
She didn't like that thought.
Not one bit.
She forced herself back to work.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
No trail. No crack. No mistake.
It was like chasing a ghost that already knew where she would look next.
Frustration started to creep in.
Sharp.
Unfamiliar.
She wasn't used to hitting walls.
She was the wall.
By evening, the silence in her apartment felt… different.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Seraphina paused mid-step, frowning slightly.
"…Okay, now I'm just being paranoid."
She glanced around.
Same walls.
Same furniture.
Same locked door.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
It didn't feel the same.
She shook it off and grabbed her phone, scrolling absentmindedly.
News. Emails. Messages.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because last night wasn't normal.
Not even close.
A faint sound made her freeze.
Click.
Seraphina's head snapped toward her laptop.
The screen had turned on.
By itself.
Her stomach tightened.
"Nope," she muttered immediately. "I'm not doing this."
She walked over slowly, every instinct on edge.
The screen was on—but blank.
No messages.
No files.
Nothing.
Just her reflection staring back at her again.
Her expression tightened.
"This isn't funny."
She reached out, about to shut it—
Then she saw it.
A tiny green light.
Her webcam.
On.
Seraphina's breath caught.
For a second, she didn't move.
Didn't think.
Because her brain was still catching up to what that meant.
Then it hit.
Someone was looking at her.
Right now.
Her chest tightened, a sharp pulse of something that wasn't quite fear—but close enough to make her act.
She slammed the laptop shut.
Hard.
Silence.
Her heartbeat filled the room now.
Loud.
Steady.
Real.
"…Okay," she whispered.
This was no longer just about money.
She stepped back, running a hand through her hair.
Think. Don't panic. Think.
If someone had access to her camera…
How long had they been watching?
Minutes?
Hours?
Since last night?
The thought made her stomach twist.
"I should've noticed," she muttered.
That bothered her more than anything.
Not the breach.
Not the messages.
But the fact that it happened without her catching it immediately.
That wasn't like her.
At all.
She grabbed her phone again, this time more deliberately.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Who would she even call?
The police?
And say what?
"Hi, a mysterious hacker erased my illegal investigation and is now spying on me"?
Yeah. That would go well.
She let out a dry breath.
"Great. Fantastic situation."
The unease stayed with her as night fell.
Every sound felt sharper.
Every shadow slightly wrong.
She checked her locks twice.
Then a third time.
Still locked.
Still secure.
Still not comforting.
By the time she sat down on the couch, it was past midnight.
She told herself she was overthinking.
That she just needed sleep.
That everything would make sense in the morning.
But deep down—
She didn't believe that.
2:13 a.m.
The knock came.
Three times.
Sharp.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Seraphina froze.
Her entire body went still, like her instincts had taken control before her mind could catch up.
No one came here.
No one.
Another knock.
Same rhythm.
Her heart started to pound now.
Slow.
Heavy.
"…No," she whispered.
Her eyes locked onto the door.
Then to the handle.
Not moving.
Still.
For now.
"Who is it?" she called, her voice steady—barely.
Silence answered.
Then—
"Open the door, Ms. Vale."
Her blood ran cold.
That voice.
Calm.
Controlled.
Familiar in a way that made something deep in her chest tighten.
Her grip on the edge of the table tightened.
"Go away," she said.
A pause.
Then—
The lock clicked.
Her breath hitched.
"No—"
The door opened.
Slowly.
Like whoever stood on the other side had all the time in the world.
And then—
He stepped in.
Dante Russo.