After the Breakup, I'm Spoiled by a Billionaire

Back in Sloane's SoHo loft, the atmosphere crackled with the nervous energy of a heist film.

Elba had changed into a form-fitting black athletic outfit, her long hair pulled back into a severe, practical ponytail. Her face was bare, her focus absolute.

Sloane paced the floor, clutching a tablet that displayed the security schematics for Landon's Upper East Side apartment building.

"This place uses the Stark-Net security system," Sloane said, her voice tight with anxiety. "They claim it's military-grade. Are you sure you can get past it?"

Elba took the tablet from her, her fingers gliding across the screen, pulling up lines of code. "Every system has a backdoor," she said, her voice low and confident.

She showed Sloane a small device that looked like an ordinary power bank.

"This is a signal jammer and a code injector," Elba explained calmly. "Once I get it close to the main server, it will trigger a three-minute loop on the security feed. Three minutes to get from the garage to the penthouse before the system runs a self-diagnostic."

Sloane’s fingers flew across her tablet, her MIT training kicking in. "I've pre-cleared the service elevator's logic board. The moment you trigger the jammer, the elevator will be waiting for you on the G-level."

Elba did a final check of the contents of her small backpack: The "USB gift" she’d shown Sloane earlier was now slotted into the base of a micro-camera, the whole unit expertly disguised as an aromatherapy diffuser, a universal keycard, and a set of miniature screwdrivers.

"I still think I should be the one going in," Sloane muttered, adjusting her headset.

"You're the only one who can stabilize the feed from the outside," Elba countered, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "And I know the layout of that penthouse better."

The clock on the wall ticked past 8:30 PM. Sloane's phone buzzed with a news alert. A photo of Landon Sterling, smiling and shaking hands with the mayor at the gala, flashed on the screen.

"He's the man of the hour," Sloane confirmed. "No way he's leaving that party early."

Elba took a deep breath, pulling on a black baseball cap and a face mask. She looked at Sloane, her eyes conveying a silent trust. "Keep an eye on the system for me. Let me know the second anything looks wrong."

Sloane drove her to the vicinity of Landon's building, dropping her off a block away. Elba slipped into the shadows, approaching the luxury high-rise from an inconspicuous service alley at the rear.

She moved with a fluid grace, staying clear of the visible security cameras, and made her way to a fire-access door in the underground parking garage.

She pulled out the universal keycard. She had cloned it weeks ago, using the data from a high-end club membership card Landon had given her as a gift. A small, foolish token he never imagined would be used against him. The light on the panel flashed green, and the lock clicked open.

Inside, she quickly located the building's electrical room. It was where the physical servers for the security system were housed.

She pressed the device that looked like a power bank against the main server cabinet and activated it. On Sloane's tablet miles away, every single camera feed froze on a static image.

"Loop active. You have one hundred and eighty seconds," Sloane's voice crackled with professional precision in Elba's ear.

Elba didn't waste a millisecond. She sprinted to the service elevator, using a second pre-programmed card to grant herself access to the penthouse floor.

The elevator doors opened directly into the apartment. The same apartment from Seraphina's taunting photo.

The air was stale, but underneath it, a faint, cloyingly sweet perfume lingered. Seraphina's scent. A wave of nausea washed over Elba, a visceral reaction to the betrayal. She forced it down, her jaw tight. There was no time for emotion.

Her eyes scanned the room, quickly identifying the perfect spot. The mantelpiece above the fireplace, directly across from the king-sized bed. A decorative, and completely superfluous, aromatherapy diffuser sat there.

With practiced efficiency, she swapped the original diffuser with her own, the one containing a high-definition, wide-angle camera.

She pulled out her phone and connected to the device's app. The screen immediately showed a crystal-clear, panoramic view of the bedroom. The audio pickup was perfect.

Just then, Sloane’s voice crackled in her ear.

"Elba, the diagnostic is running early. You have sixty seconds before the cameras go live. Exit now," Sloane commanded, her voice tight but steady.

Elba shoved the original diffuser into her backpack, her eyes darting around the room one last time to ensure she'd left no trace.

She moved to the door, her hand on the handle, when she heard a faint whirring sound. The private elevator was activating.

Her heart leaped into her throat, a frantic bird beating against her ribs. Had Landon come back early?

She ducked into the hall closet, pulling the door almost shut, and held her breath, every muscle in her body tensed.

The elevator doors slid open. Silence. No one stepped out.

After a few agonizing seconds that stretched into an eternity, Sloane's relieved voice came through the earpiece.

"False alarm. It was a neighbor on a different floor. They must have hit the wrong button and gone back down. You're clear."

A shaky breath escaped Elba's lips. She slipped out of the apartment, took the service elevator back down to the garage, and melted into the New York night.