The intruder didn't have time to register the velvet-clad figure before him. Linnea moved with an economy of motion that finishing schools didn't teach. She caught the waiter's knife-wrist, twisted it until the bone groaned, and delivered a sharp palm-strike to his solar plexus.
As the man crumpled, Linnea reached for the data drive. Her fingers were an inch away when the heavy mahogany doors creaked.
She didn't turn. She didn't panic. She simply let her body go limp, dropping to her knees beside the unconscious man and letting out a soft, rehearsed gasp of terror.
"Help! Someone, please!" she cried, her voice trembling perfectly.
The footsteps that entered weren't the heavy, rhythmic thuds of Caspian's combat boots. These were lighter, more deliberate.
"The theater is impressive, Madam Vane, but you're a second too late with the scream."
Linnea looked up. Standing there was Julian Thorne. He was leaner than Caspian, with sharp features and spectacles that caught the moonlight. He wasn't holding a gun; he was holding a tablet, his eyes scanning the room with the cold detachment of a forensic scientist.
Julian was Caspian's childhood friend and his most lethal strategist. While Caspian broke armies, Julian dismantled lies.
"Colonel Thorne," Linnea breathed, squeezing a single tear from her eye. "This man... he attacked me. I think he was trying to rob the Commander."
Julian stepped closer, ignoring the intruder and looking directly at the data console. He saw the synthetic oil residue Linnea had used to bypass the biometric lock. He then looked at Linnea's hands—no trembling, no broken nails, just steady, pale fingers.
"A waiter with a high-level encryption bypass?" Julian asked, his voice a dry rasp. "And a pampered bride who managed to neutralize a trained operative without messing up her hair? The mathematics of this room don't add up."
Before Linnea could respond, the room grew cold. Caspian Vane stepped through the door.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Caspian didn't look at the intruder. He looked at Julian, then at Linnea on the floor. He walked over, his heavy cloak billowing, and hauled Linnea to her feet with a grip that was both protective and punishing.
"Report," Caspian commanded.
"An intruder, sir," Julian said, his eyes never leaving Linnea. "Our 'fragile' Lady Vane claims she was attacked. Curiously, the intruder has a shattered wrist and a collapsed lung. Very... lucky strikes for a woman who spent her youth learning the piano."
Caspian's gaze dropped to Linnea. He saw the smudge of dirt on her velvet sleeve and the way she leaned into him, playing the victim. He felt the heat of her body, but he also felt the stillness of her heart.
"Julian," Caspian said, his voice a low warning.
"I'm just saying, Commander," Julian continued, tapping a stylus against his chin. "Security wasn't breached from the outside. The encryption was touched from the inside. Either we have a ghost in the system, or your new bride is a lot more expensive than her father's debts suggested."
Caspian's grip on Linnea's waist tightened until it bordered on painful. He leaned down, his lips brushing her temple, though his eyes were fixed on his Vice-Commander.
"Take the prisoner to the sub-level. Interrogate him personally," Caspian ordered. "And Julian?"
"Sir?"
"Don't let your imagination interfere with your loyalty. She is my wife. Her safety is your primary directive. Her past is mine to dismantle."
Julian bowed stiffly, a thin, knowing smile touching his lips. "As you wish, Commander. I'll be sure to check the security footage... very carefully."
As Julian dragged the intruder out, Linnea realized her biggest threat wasn't Caspian's coldness—it was Julian's intelligence. The Commander wanted to possess her, but the Vice-Commander wanted to unmask her.
"He doesn't like me," Linnea whispered, looking up at Caspian.
Caspian turned her to face him, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his gloved thumbs tracing her lower lip. "Julian doesn't trust anything that isn't a decimal point. But he's right about one thing."
"What?"
"The mathematics don't add up, Linnea." He pulled her closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive growl. "Tomorrow, you start your 'training.' If you're going to be a target in this house, I'm going to see exactly what you're capable of."
Linnea realized the "spoiling" was over. The interrogation had officially begun.