Maribel Crossley was careful.
Careful enough that no one noticed the pauses before she spoke. Careful enough that her concern always sounded genuine, her questions always reasonable. Careful enough that when she listened, people mistook it for loyalty.
But Maribel had never been loyal to Kairo.
She had been planted.
The syndicate had learned long ago that brute force only broke bodies. Information broke futures. And Maribel was information in human form educated, composed, persuasive. The perfect shadow.
Every meeting she attended fed them something. Campaign routes. Security adjustments. Public appearances that had been moved or delayed. She never sent everything at once. That would raise suspicion. Instead, she released details like drops of poison in water.
And most importantly, she told them about the distance.
"Kairo trusts her," Maribel said quietly into a secure line one night, seated alone in her apartment, city lights flickering behind her. "But she's pulling away. The bodyguard is choosing professionalism over intimacy. He's going crazy because of it."
The voice on the other end hummed with satisfaction.
"And the woman?" it asked. "Naya."
"She's guarded," Maribel replied. "Disciplined. Still dangerous. But she's isolating herself. Emotionally. That makes her predictable."
The syndicate didn't care about romance.
They cared about fractures, secrets,control,power and kairos downfall.
They knew exactly what to do with a man torn between power and love, and a woman who believed distance could keep him safe.
Maribel ended the call, face calm, heart steady. She told herself it wasn't personal even though they had been close friends long ago. Kairo was collateral. Naya was an obstacle.
And then there was Lysandra.
Maribel almost laughed when she thought of her.
Lysandra Vale wasn't part of the syndicate's strategy. She was noise. A vanity project gone rogue. A woman who believed attention equaled power.
"She's useful," Maribel told them once. "But she's not one of you." She could be bought easily. They agreed.
Lysandra wanted Kairo's bed.Just lust.
The syndicate wanted his downfall.
There was a difference.
Lysandra strutted through rooms like a lioness, baring teeth she didn't realize were blunt. She mistook seduction for control, visibility for dominance. She thought bold moves made her dangerous.
In truth, she was a dog scrambling for scraps of relevance, gnawing at the edges of something far bigger than her ego.
And dogs didn't rule kingdoms.Lions did and will always do.
Dogs like her were used.
Maribel knew this. That was why she kept Lysandra close but never trusted her. She let Lysandra believe she was influencing events, that her flirtations mattered, that her presence shook foundations.
In reality, Lysandra was a joke.
While cameras chased kisses and gossip, the real game unfolded quietly. Files were copied. Routes memorized. Weaknesses mapped.
Even though , Naya sensed something she couldn't name.
Kairo felt it too an unease that lingered even when things appeared calm.He trusted Maribel's mind, her advice, her composure.
That trust was exactly what made her dangerous.
Because when betrayal finally came, it wouldn't arrive screaming.
It would arrive smiling, carrying strategy notes, speaking softly about the future while handing the syndicate everything they needed to destroy it.