"One hundred million dollars for a ghost."
Vivian stared up at the Pei Corporation's obsidian tower, its glass facade reflecting her deliberately catastrophic disguise—baggy janitor's uniform that could house a small family, fake freckles splattered across her cheeks like paint drops, and thick-rimmed glasses that screamed "virgin librarian." Digital billboards flashed her bounty like neon death sentences, but she wasn't here to surrender.
She was here to steal a job from the devil himself.
**[CRITICAL WARNING: TARGET HOSTILITY MAXIMUM]**
**[LIFE FORCE REMAINING: 22:31:47]**
**[PROXIMITY TO ENERGY SOURCE REQUIRED]**
*Twenty-two hours until my body shuts down completely. Time to get dangerously close to the man who wants me dead.*
The Chief Security Officer position—twenty million annually—had been posted in desperation after last night's breach. Vivian pushed through the revolving doors with her cleaning cart, invisible among the army of suits who wouldn't spare a glance for hired help.
***
Thirty-three floors above, digital Armageddon was in full swing.
"Sir, we're hemorrhaging data!" The cybersecurity chief looked ready to defenestrate himself. "Hellfire collective is using X's backdoor from last night. They're gutting our core systems faster than we can breathe!"
Lucien Pei stood in the eye of the technological hurricane, his jaw clenched against the screaming tinnitus that felt like ice picks drilling into his skull. Every monitor displayed cascading failures, his three-billion-dollar fortress crumbling like wet cardboard.
The constant noise in his head had returned with sadistic vengeance since losing track of that woman. Every second without her proximity felt like psychological torture.
"Three minutes," he said, his voice carrying the supernatural calm that preceded mass graves. "Fix this clusterfuck, or I'll personally feed you to the sharks."
Not metaphorical sharks. Real ones.
That's when she walked in.
The cleaning lady pushed her cart through the chaos with infuriating nonchalance, surveying the million-dollar equipment like she was browsing clearance items. When she spoke, her voice cut through the panic with surgical precision.
"Three billion for security, and you might as well have hung a sign saying 'Free Data—Help Yourself.'"
The IT director spun around, his face cycling through shades of purple that suggested imminent stroke. "Security! Remove this cleaning woman immediately!"
Two guards stepped forward, but Vivian's next words froze them mid-stride.
"See that code string on terminal seven? The pretty one your geniuses are ignoring?" She pointed with a grimy rag, her tone bored. "Logic bomb. Twenty-six seconds until it turns this entire building into a very expensive paperweight."
Every head whipped toward the screen. Buried in the data cascade was exactly what she'd described—a digital time bomb counting down to total annihilation.
*Twenty-three seconds.*
Lucien's storm-gray eyes locked onto hers across the room. Even through the ridiculous disguise, her presence made the constant screaming in his head... quieter. Much quieter.
*Impossible. But the relief is real.*
Vivian extracted a crumpled job posting with theatrical flair. "Chief Security Officer. Twenty million per year. Corner office with a view. I'm here for the interview."
"You're completely insane," the IT director sputtered. "You're a janitor!"
"I'm your salvation." She glanced at the countdown with predatory calm. "Twelve seconds until total system annihilation. Tick tock, gentlemen."
Lucien studied her with the intensity of a man dissecting prey. The tinnitus was definitely fading—the closer she got, the more the torture subsided. "One chance. Succeed, and you're hired. Fail, and you'll be feeding marine life by sunset."
*Finally. Let's dance.*
Vivian dropped into the main terminal chair, her entire aura shifting from slovenly servant to digital goddess. Her fingers attacked the keyboard like a concert pianist performing a death symphony, each keystroke precise as a sniper's bullet.
The room fell silent except for the machine-gun staccato of keys that sounded like warfare.
She didn't just patch her own backdoor—she weaponized it. Code flowed across screens like liquid lightning as she launched a devastating counter-offensive, sending viruses racing back through Hellfire's network like digital napalm.
Within ninety seconds, every enemy system was burning.
Her finale was pure artistry—a massive golden middle finger displayed on every compromised screen, rotating slowly like a monument to their humiliation.
*Amateurs. This is how you end a war.*
The IT department stood in shell-shocked silence, their collective jaws creating a small breeze. Even the security guards looked grudgingly impressed.
Lucien approached with predatory grace, each step bringing blessed relief as the tinnitus faded to whispers. He stopped directly behind her chair, close enough that his body heat penetrated the cheap uniform fabric.
*Dangerous territory. But the silence in my head is worth the risk.*
"Impressive performance," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat against her ear. "But something about you feels... familiar."
His hands gripped her chair's armrests, creating a cage of expensive suit and masculine heat. She could smell his cologne—dark, complex, and far too appealing for someone plotting her demise.
"That discount perfume you're drowning in..." His breath ghosted across her neck, raising goosebumps she couldn't suppress. "Underneath all that artificial poverty... there's something I recognize."
**[EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED]**
**[DISGUISE INTEGRITY: CRITICAL FAILURE]**
**[FACIAL RECOGNITION IMMINENT: 00:00:31]**
*Thirty-one seconds before he realizes he's hired his own most wanted fugitive.*
Vivian's pulse spiked as his proximity triggered both system alerts and something far more dangerous—the kind of electric awareness that made smart women do stupid things.
*This just became a whole lot more complicated.*