Chapter 173

Ciel

There’s no time left.

My heat is looming around the corner. I can feel it—the restlessness, the way my skin is more sensitive, the way Jack’s scent lingers on me longer than it should. I can’t keep ignoring it.

I take the suppressants and look at myself in the mirror.

It’s time to make a decision.

I really don’t want to, though.

I’m so scared. I get into my head when we’re intimate, and I often end up freezing. My body remembers things my mind wants to forget.

The way my consent was optional. The way pleasure was never for me.

But I don’t want the heat to take away my choice.

I’ve spent my whole life having choices taken from me. My father decided my future. The dukes decided my body. The world decided my worth.

Not anymore.

I set down the suppressants.

I’m going to do this. Not because of the heat. Not because Jack expects it. Not because anyone is watching.

Because I want to.

Because I’m choosing it.

***

Richard Roderick

I slam the tablet down.

"Find out who did this!"

The screen is cracked now, spider-webbed across the article headline. "Duke Roderick’s Dark Secret: The Truth About Solmere’s Disappeared Citizens."

My name is front and center.

The room is silent. My aides don’t move. They’ve learned not to, when I’m like this.

I won’t lie. Some citizens are uncooperative when we try to take them away. They resist. They fight. They try to run. So yes, sometimes they are better off eliminated. It’s cleaner. Safer. For everyone.

But someone has talked. Someone has leaked. Someone has taken blurry photos of what is obviously me—my silhouette, my uniform, my men,doing my job.

"Do we know where they got this?" I ask. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

One of the aides steps up. "No, Your Grace. All the newspapers and journalists said they received an anonymous email. When we tried to track the email, it’s different for all the sources—and they are all inactive now."

"Are you serious?"

No one responds.

"Even with our access to Solmere’s power lines? Internet?" My voice rises. "You’re telling me you can’t find out who?!"

My jaw tightens.

"Delete them," I say.

"We have. But since it’s viral—"

"Incompetent!"

I sweep my arm across the desk. Papers fly. The tablet crashes to the floor. One of my aides flinches.

None of them speak.

"Shut it down," I say.

"...shut?"

"I said shut it down!"

"The internet?"

"Are you stupid?" I’m losing my patience.

"But Your Grace, much of daily life depends on—"

"If you want to keep your job, you will not question me once more."

The aide’s mouth snaps shut.

I stand there, chest heaving, staring at the broken tablet on the floor. The cracked screen still glows faintly—my name, the headline, the words I can’t unsee.

"The internet," I say again, quieter now. "I want it shut down. Locally. Regionally. Whatever it takes. Find the servers hosting those articles and make them disappear."

"Your Grace..." Another aide steps forward.

Angry, I grab him by his neck and shove him to the ground.

He hits the floor hard. His glasses skitter across the marble.

The room is silent.

I stand over him, breathing hard, my fists still clenched.

"Anyone else?" I ask.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

I straighten my jacket. Smooth my hair. Adjust my cuffs.

"The internet," I say again, calm now, measured. "Shut it down. I don’t care how. I don’t care what it costs. Do it."

The aide on the floor pushes himself up slowly. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t look at me.

"Yes, Your Grace," he whispers.

I turn and walk to the window.

***

Nolan

Work is a mess.

At 2 p.m., for some reason, internet connection was cut off. No warning. No explanation. Just... gone.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I need the internet to access the data I need. The servers, the shipping manifests, the tracking systems—all of it is digital. All of it is offline.

It’s chaos.

The managers try to gain a semblance of sanity, but to no avail. People are standing around, staring at their screens like the connection might magically return if they glare hard enough. Phones are ringing off the hook—clients, partners, vendors, all demanding answers we don’t have.

I look at the time on my phone. It’s only 3 p.m.

It’s going to be a long day.

I watch as some people almost get into a fist fight over who gets to use the one landline that still works. Voices rise. Accusations fly. Someone knocks over a potted plant.

Yeah. A really, really long day.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.

One of the senior analysts throws his hands up and storms toward the elevator. Probably going home. Probably not coming back.

Jealous.

The team lead is pacing, running his hands through his hair, muttering about "contingency plans" that no one prepared for.

I watch as someone from the IT department all red-faced, tie loosened—drops his employee badge on the nearest desk and walks toward the stairwell.

In what I assume is an I quit.

No one stops him.

Probably not the first resignation today.

Well, I can’t exactly do that. I just got this job—and through connections too. It would be disrespectful to quit.

Luckily, no one has come to me in my office.

I make eye contact with my team lead through the glass wall.

Oh no.

I thought too soon.

He’s walking toward my door. That specific walk—the one managers do when they have a problem they need you to solve.

I consider hiding under my desk.

Too late.

The door opens.

"Mr. Harlow, you can’t be seated here all relaxed. Let’s think. Come up with solutions. What will headquarters think of us?"

I straighten in my chair. "I understand, Mr. Fredwin, but—"

"No buts. Only solutions."

I bite back my response. Fredwin is the type of manager who confuses activity with productivity. If you’re not running around looking stressed, you’re not working.

"Mr. Fredwin—"

"Solutions, Harlow." He taps my desk. "That’s what we pay you for."

Yeah, a really long day.