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“Mr. Baptiste, I need you to meet with the Everé vendor at ten and confirm the final technical specifications. Security also needs your approval on the revised access list before noon.”

Elias lowers his coffee. “I'll handle it.”

“Thank you.” She checks something on her tablet. “Mr. Narváez, the PR team is waiting on your approval for the press statement. They need it before the media briefing, so please make that a priority.”

I blink.

Mr. Narváez?

“Sure thing, Sugar.”

A few employees glance in my direction. Sloane doesn't miss a beat.

“Thank you, Mr. Narváez.”

Well, fuck me.

“Mr. Blackwell, VIP seating confirmations are still awaiting your signature. I'll need those returned to the hospitality coordinator by eleven.”

Nate studies her for a moment. “Sloane.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell?”

The room goes just quiet enough for me to notice. His jaw tightens. “I'll have them signed.”

“Excellent. Now, regarding the presentation rehearsal…” She continues as if nothing happened, moving straight into the next department's responsibilities.

I glance at Elias. He looks about as comfortable as I feel. Nate hasn't taken his eyes off her.

We've spent months being Nathaniel, Elias, and Jace to this woman. Her men. The ones she laughed with, argued with, and loved without reservation.

Now we're Mr. Blackwell, Mr. Baptiste, and Mr. Narváez.

And the worst part? She's done absolutely nothing wrong. She's running this launch like the professional she is, and we're the three idiots standing here wishing she'd look at us like we mean something to her again.

By the time the briefing ends, everyone's scattered to their assignments. The next few hours disappear into final rehearsals, vendor approvals, and last-minute adjustments. Just before noon, Nate, Elias, and I regroup near the logistics wing, where Sergio intercepts us with a tablet in hand.

“We have another hit.”

Nate stops. “Where?”

“Your office. Your credentials authenticated from your workstation thirty-two seconds ago.”

I glance at Nate. “He's been here all morning.”

“Exactly,” Sergio says.

Elias takes the tablet, scrolling through the activity log. “We terminated every active session and rotated the executive credentials. How the hell did they get back in?”

“That's what we're trying to determine. But I can confirm it wasn't one of the old sessions.”

I look at Nate, waiting for him to make the connection. His expression changes as he studies the screen.

“If they can use Nate's credentials while he's standing right here,” I say, “then they could've done the same thing to Sloane.”

Neither of them argues.

“We need to talk to her,” Elias says, handing the tablet back to Sergio.