Chapter 3
466words
Three sides were floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan's steel jungle sprawling beneath my feet. I could even make out the hazy silhouette of Lady Liberty in the distance. The remaining wall was a massive dynamic screen displaying the global data flow of "Styx Power."
And I was positioned in the most exposed corner of the cage.
He gave me a separate desk, directly facing his massive ebony altar of a workspace. He called it "convenient for discussion."
I damn well knew what that meant.
Surveillance with zero blind spots.
I'd become a curious new specimen in his glass kingdom, placed under constant spotlight for the master's examination.
"This is your work for the next week," he tossed me a tablet, his tone utterly flat. "All the underlying code for the 'Cerberus' project. Full access. Find what I've missed."
I took the tablet, my fingertips ice cold.
Full access. What arrogance—and what a test. He'd handed me the key to his kingdom's treasury while pressing a gun against my back. He wanted to see if this "genius" was all talk or if I could actually crack his safe.
Or if I'd steal anything else.
"Very well, Mr. Blackwood." I lowered my head, playing the obedient intern who'd just received a heaven-sent opportunity and couldn't be more thrilled.
And so my days began.
By day, I was Ilara Nolan, quiet but frighteningly efficient coding prodigy. I buried myself in millions of lines of complex code, spotting tiny flaws that top engineers had missed, crafting perfect, elegant solutions. All while feeling that heavy gaze on my back—a wolf watching both his territory and the "newcomer" who'd wandered in.
He never praised me. His "approval" came in the form of increasingly difficult and critical tasks. I accepted them all. I needed to cement my value, justify my presence, become indispensable.
But at night, when he left, this glass cage became my hunting ground.
I moved with extreme caution—a ballet dancer traversing a minefield—as I probed the company's infamous "Cerberus" firewall. Using fragmentary permissions gathered during my daytime work, I gradually pieced together a complete map. With each keystroke, I wondered what he was really watching—my capabilities or my vulnerabilities?
His vigilance exceeded my expectations. Several times, as my probes barely touched sensitive areas, his "sniffer dog" programs instantly activated. I'd have to withdraw in the final second before alarms triggered, disguising my actions as routine code queries.
This knife-edge dance made me both nervous and exhilarated.
I was getting closer. All I needed was one opportunity—one sufficiently large gap—and I could implant my "Trojan Horse" to obtain everything I needed for my revenge.
Just one perfect moment.
And such moments always arrive when least expected.
