"To destroy a king, don't strike his throne. Strike his heart."
Those words echoed in Aarav's mind long after the corridor fell silent.
Sara stood beside him, the key still cold in her palm, the scent of danger still lingering in the hallway like perfume after a leaving guest.
Security teams arrived, but the cameras were dead. The footage was gone. No trace of the woman. No digital footprint.
Nothing.
Only that bracelet—the one from his penthouse—remained as proof.
Sara turned to Aarav. "How did she get in?"
Aarav (voice flat, lethal): She didn't break in.
She was let in.
Sara stilled.
He wasn't talking about Eris.
He was talking about someone inside his own circle.
🧩 VR Tower — 1:02 AM | Frost King's War Room
The Frost King was back in his true domain.
Screens lined the walls of Unit Zero — a private underground command room even his board didn't know existed.
Sara sat beside him, in his chair — the one no one but him ever touched.
Dev stood ready. His expression unreadable but aware — tonight was no longer about protection. It was war protocol.
Dev: We scrubbed all cameras. Corridor footage is wiped clean. No one outside us three will ever know she was there.
Aarav (quiet menace): She didn't intend to expose anything tonight. She wanted to introduce herself.
He zoomed in on a still frame — a shadow, timestamped, standing just out of camera range.
Eris wanted to be seen… but not captured.
Sara spoke, voice low but steady. "She said she watched you destroy empires."
Aarav's gaze flicked to her. For a moment, the tension eased — he wasn't worried for himself.
He was furious for her.
Aarav: Anyone can study me. My patterns are predictable. I've always played in the open.
He turned the screen.
Sara's face under the workshop camera. Her laughing in the café. Her exiting events.
A timeline.
Aarav (cold): But you? You were never on the board. You were my only unlisted asset. Which means—
Sara (sharp): —someone watched us before the stairwell.
He looked at her with pride in his eyes — sharp and subtle.
Aarav: Exactly.
🎭 Back at Sara's Apartment — 3:17 AM
She walked barefoot, hair loose, Aarav's jacket draped over her shoulders.
Her bracelet — the missing one — sat on her coffee table like an accusation.
Her phone buzzed.
Hidden 💬 — A.V.R: Sleep. I've locked down everything. No signals go in or out without my trace.
She typed slowly.
Sara: What if she tries again?
Three dots. Then—
A.V.R: Let her. This time, I'll be waiting.
She placed the phone down…
And on her window glass, just under the condensation from the rain…
There was a fingerprint.
Clear. Deliberate. Not hers.
Written under it — traced with moisture:
"11:11 was just a greeting."