The Billionaire Hunting His Ghost Wife

The morning sun hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Apocalypse Corp headquarters.

Bryton sat behind his massive desk. His face was a mask of cold stone. He held a custom fountain pen in his hand.

Cassian stood on the other side of the desk. He placed a thick manila folder on the glass surface.

"The drug was traced back to Vice President Leland Finch's people," Cassian said. "They meant to send a companion to your room to secure leverage."

Bryton let out a short, humorless laugh. "Cut all funding to Leland's projects. Strip his access. Throw him out."

"Done, sir." Cassian shifted his weight. He looked uncomfortable. "About the woman..."

Bryton's fingers tightened around the pen. "Show me."

"We pulled the hotel feeds. The cameras on the top floor hallway were hacked. Wiped clean during that exact thirty-minute window. Just static."

Bryton's jaw clenched. The muscles in his cheek jumped.

"What about the street cameras?" Bryton demanded.

Cassian tapped a tablet. The large screen on the wall flickered to life. The footage was grainy and dark.

A slender figure in an oversized men's coat moved through an alley. The person kept their head down, perfectly utilizing the shadows. They moved with terrifying efficiency, avoiding the direct line of sight of three different traffic cameras.

Bryton stared at the screen. The pen in his hand snapped.

The sharp crack echoed in the silent office. Black ink exploded over his fingers, staining his skin. He did not blink.

This was no escort. This was no random gold-digger. The woman who slept with him, insulted him, and jumped off a building was a ghost.

A dark, dangerous thrill settled in his stomach. The humiliation morphed into a sharp, obsessive need to hunt.

"Expand the grid," Bryton said softly. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the ink from his hands. "Check every female guest, staff member, and contractor in a five-mile radius. Bring her to me."

Miles away, in a large lecture hall at the NYU Stern School of Business.

Kaliyah sat in the very back row. She wore a baggy gray hoodie. Thick, black-rimmed glasses hid half her face.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard of her laptop. The screen displayed a complex, multi-layered architectural schematic.

A black, encrypted chat box popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen.

[K. Burns]: King. The client in Dubai is doubling the offer. Do we take the project?

Kaliyah stared at the blinking cursor. She typed a single word.

[King]: No.

She hit enter and closed the chat. Rejecting an eight-figure contract stung, especially when she was currently living off cheap noodles to maintain her impoverished student cover, but staying completely off the radar was a matter of life and death.

The loud buzz of the class bell rang. Students packed their bags.

"Miss Acevedo. A moment, please."

Kaliyah froze. She closed her laptop and walked down the steps to the front podium. Professor Alistair Pinter held out a piece of thick, expensive paper.

"Your structural analysis paper was flawless," Pinter said. "I am submitting your name for the elite internship program at Apocalypse Corp."

Kaliyah's stomach hit the floor. Her lungs tightened.

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. She forced her voice to soften. "Thank you, Professor. But I need to focus on my thesis. I cannot take on an internship."

She did not wait for his reply. She grabbed her backpack and walked fast out of the double doors.

She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head. She kept her eyes glued to the pavement. Apocalypse Corp was Bryton's empire. She needed to put an ocean between herself and that company.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled it out. It was an automated message from the university administration.

[MANDATORY: All full-ride scholarship recipients must attend the corporate sponsor mixer tomorrow at 2:00 PM. Attendance is required to maintain funding status. ]

Kaliyah stopped walking. She stared at the screen. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.