Chapter 1Chapter 1

The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the ballroom, but Soren Ashford stood in the shadows of his own reputation.

The journalist cornered him near the champagne tower, a voice recorder already in hand. "Mr. Ashford, can you confirm that your father's death was ruled an accident by the company's own investigators?"

Soren's jaw tightened. He'd fielded worse questions. "My father passed away from a heart condition. The investigation was thorough and independent."

"Independent?" The journalist's smile was thin. "Your COO handpicked the team."

Around them, conversations faltered. Faces turned. Soren felt the familiar press of a crowd that watched for weakness.

Then Maren stepped forward.

She wasn't supposed to be here—she was a server tonight, working the gala to supplement her caretaker income. But she moved with the quiet confidence of someone who'd spent years making herself invisible.

"The independent review was conducted by Dr. Helena Chen from Cornell," Maren said, her voice steady. "She published her methodology. Anyone can verify it."

The journalist blinked. "And you are?"

"A former botany researcher. I read the report." Maren's gaze flickered to Soren, something unspoken passing between them. "It was thorough."

Soren's chest tightened. She'd read the report. The report that mentioned the conservatory lab.

Vance materialized at Soren's elbow, his smile professional but his eyes sharp. "Ms. Novák, how generous of you to defend the company. But I'm sure you have tables to clear."

It wasn't a suggestion.

Maren's chin lifted, but she stepped back. "Of course."

As she disappeared into the crowd, Vance leaned close. "That woman knows too much. She's been nosing around the conservatory."

"She's my mother's caretaker."

"Then keep her on a shorter leash." Vance's breath smelled of whiskey. "The board wants that lab sealed. Permanently."

Soren didn't answer. He was already moving through the crowd, catching Maren's arm in the hallway.

"Walk with me."

She didn't resist, but her shoulders were rigid. "I shouldn't have spoken. I know."

"You read the report." He led her toward a side door, the night air cool against his face. "You know about the lab."

"I know there's a lab in the conservatory that isn't on any official plans." Her voice dropped. "I've seen the door. The one behind the fern with the tags that don't match the plant species."

Soren stopped. "You've been inside?"

"No. But I've seen people go in. Your father, before he died. Then Vance." She met his eyes. "I thought it was research. Legitimate research."

"It was." The lie tasted bitter. "It still is."

"Then why didn't you want anyone to know?"

Because the truth would destroy everything. But he couldn't say that. Not yet.

"Because my father was working on something sensitive. A pharmaceutical breakthrough." He chose his words carefully. "Someone in the company might want to steal it."

"Or hide it."

He didn't deny it.

They walked in silence to the conservatory, a glass cathedral in the moonlight. Inside, the air was thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth. Soren pulled out a small flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness.

"The file my father kept—it's in here somewhere. He told me before he died." Soren's voice roughened. "He said if anything happened to him, I'd find the answers in the plants."

Maren moved to the nearest fern, running her fingers along the label. "These tags. They're not random." She traced the alphanumeric code. "This is a cipher. Each letter corresponds to a page number in the conservatory's logbook."

"You've studied this."

"I'm a botanist. Or I was." Her smile was fleeting. "I notice patterns."

They worked in silence, decoding tags, moving deeper into the conservatory. Soren's phone buzzed—Vance, again. He silenced it.

"Here." Maren stopped before a massive fern, its fronds brushing the ceiling. "The tag says 'NOVA-17-GEN.' That's not a species."

Soren's blood ran cold. NovaGen. The drug his father had been developing.

He pushed aside the fern. Behind it, a door was set into the stone wall, almost invisible. Maren pressed the handle—it clicked open.

The corridor beyond was narrow, lined with pipes and wires. They followed it to a larger room, the air cold and sterile. Medical equipment crowded the space. IV stands. Refrigerated cabinets. A desk covered in files.

And behind the desk, a man slumped in his chair.

Maren's hand flew to her mouth.

Soren stepped forward, his flashlight illuminating the scene. The man's eyes were open, glassy. A syringe protruded from his neck.

Recognition hit like a fist.

"Dr. Khalil," Soren whispered. His father's lead researcher. The man who'd known the most about NovaGen.

Maren's voice was thin. "Is he...?"

Dead. Very dead.

Soren reached for the files on the desk, his hands shaking. Patient records. Test results. Names he didn't recognize. And one name that made his breath catch.

"Elena Novák."

Maren's face went pale. "What?"

"Your mother." Soren turned, the file trembling in his hands. "She was a test subject."

Maren stared at him, the color draining from her face. "My mother died from a disease. A rare disease."

Soren looked down at the file. The diagnosis was different. The treatment was different. The truth was buried in medical jargon and falsified reports.

Before he could speak, footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Heavy. Deliberate. Coming closer.

Maren grabbed his arm, her fingers cold. "Someone's coming."

Soren killed the flashlight. Darkness swallowed them.

The footsteps grew louder. A key turned in the lock of the outer door.

They were trapped.