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Nothing. He clearly trusts his guards implicitly.
Anothermistake.
I sit behind the desk and boot up his laptop. The screen flickers to life, and I’m faced with the standard login screen. I’ve cracked tougher codes in my sleep. A few precise keystrokes, a bypass here, a backdoor there, and bingo, I’m in.
I search the directories, combing through financial records, business deals, the usual shit. Honestly, I could copy this whole thing right now and make afortuneselling it to his competitors.
But pigs, as they say, get fat.
Hogs get slaughtered.
AKA, don’t be fucking greedy.
Besides, I’m here for something else, something that will get me closer to the truth. Something Ididn’tfind when I broke into Orlov Financial Solutions’ offices that first night I crossed Freya’s path.
Then I see it.
A folder namedLindqvist, William.
I click on it, calmly scrolling through the files. There’s nothing groundbreaking—just a basic dossier like any crime boss would make on a rival or even a friend. That’s the nature of our world. I’ve compiledinsanelyinvasive dossiers on close allies of the Mori-kai.
Hey, you never know.
I poke around Freya’s past, my brow furrowing when my gaze lands on some scanned documents.
Interesting.
It’s a domestic incident report, dated years ago, back when Freya was just a kid.
I lean forward, and my jaw tightens.
It would appear her father beat the shit out of her mother more than once. Bad enough that the household help, orsomeonein the house at least, called the police.
Obviously, nothing ever happened. They police came out because they had to make a show of doing so. But no charges were ever laid—not given what I’m sure William Lindqvist was paying the local authorities.
Nothing that I’m reading isthatsurprising. It’s common knowledge that Freya’s father was a backstabbing piece of shit. But the details paint an even darker picture than I expected. The violence, the control—it’s all there in black and white.
Then a line catches my eye:Argument stemmed from allegations of infidelity.
It doesn’t say who was cheating on whom, but, come on. I know what kind of man Freya’s father was. I can only assume it was him stepping out.
I pull a flash drive from my pocket and copy the entire file on William Lindqvist, making sure to leave no digital trace of my presence. When the transfer is complete, I pocket the drive and power down the computer.
Time to go.
But not before I see her.
I move silently through the house, my steps whispering on the polished floors. It’s too early for anyone to be awake, and the few guards inside won’t be patrolling the private quarters.
Silently, I push open the door to her room and I slip inside. It’s quiet, save for the soft sound of her breathing. She’s asleep, her body curled up beneath the blankets, her face relaxed in the soft glow of dawn seeping in through the curtains.
She looks peaceful, almost innocent. But I know better. Freya isn’t innocent. She’s been through hell, and it’s carved itself into her soul in ways I recognize because I’ve been through something similar.
For a moment, I just watch her. Then my hands curl into fists at my sides. The urge to touch her is overwhelming. I could wake her up. Tell her why I left. Tell her the truth that’s been gnawing at me since the moment I laid eyes on her. But I don’t. I stay still, my eyes drinking her in, memorizing the way the blankets move with each breath.
My gaze drifts to her lips, parted slightly as she breathes. I can still taste her, feel the softness of her mouth on mine. It’s a memory that’s burned into my brain, one I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.
I should leave.
