The private jet touched down in Zurich just past 7 p.m., the horizon brushed in silver and dusk-blue.
Jace Davis barely glanced at the skyline. His fingers were already flying across the tablet in his lap, answering encrypted messages with surgical precision.
Beside him, Jane Hayes—at least, that's what the badge on her blazer claimed—sat quietly, one hand clutching her handbag.
She didn't speak until they were in the car.
"We're checked into a five-star hotel; Hotel Du Lac," she said, scrolling through the itinerary. "Conference starts at nine, your keynote's scheduled for eleven. I'll confirm registration tonight."
"Don't forget the closed-door session with the Swiss Ethics Board," Jace replied. "Five p.m. It's not on the public schedule."
"Already blocked off."
The drive was smooth and silent, just like the man beside her. Jace rarely made conversation unless it was necessary. But when he spoke, it carried weight. Jane had learned to listen carefully.
They pulled up outside the Hotel, its classic façade bathed in understated elegance. The name was no exaggeration. A doorman tipped his cap as porters rushed forward. Jace stepped out first, coat folded neatly over his arm. Jane followed, her heels clicking rhythmically on stone.
"Mr. Davis, your penthouse is ready," the receptionist said. "And Miss Hayes will be on the executive floor, room 1106."
"Thank you," Jace replied.
Jane frowned. "I thought I'd be on the same floor. It would make work easier."
"Separate floors," Jace cut in, polite but final. "I'm your employer, not your roommate. You need rest. I need privacy."
She didn't argue. She simply nodded.
She hadn't expected anything else.
In the elevator, Jane checked her phone. "Breakfast is at seven, opening remarks at nine. I'll stay..."
The elevator dinged.
Jace stepped aside, letting her out. "Jane," his eyes met her eyes for the first time since they landed.
She looked up.
"You've been in work mode since takeoff," he said, softer now. "Take tonight, rest. You'll burn out before the first day's done."
"I'm not tired, I'm just making sure everything's..."
"Jane! You can recite the entire schedule backwards... I know. But for once, just stop. Breathe."
Her throat tightened. For a moment, she saw past the cold exterior. She nodded. "Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight."
Her suite was pristine: floor-to-ceiling windows, a king bed, and a marble bathroom where a hot bath already waited. She lingered by the window for a little longer than necessary before slipping into the hot bath.
The warmth worked its way through her muscles, dissolving tension she hadn't realized she was carrying.
Mr. Davis had been right. She was exhausted.
By the time she emerged, wrapped in one of the hotel's thick robes. She was so tired, she didn't even touch her dinner before sleep pulled her under.
JACE'S SUITE
Jace entered his penthouse. Minimal. Immaculate. Designed for work, not comfort.
He walked to the desk by the window, his tablet in hand. The secure folder had just been unlocked. The attendee list for the Global Bioethics Conference had arrived early, sent through a shadowed channel with no attribution.
He scanned the names, policy heads, pharmaceutical giants; expected players in a world of secrets and cures.
Until one name froze him.
Carrington Biomedical Research Institute.
His jaw tensed.
A slow, coiled anger stirred beneath his calm exterior, the Carrington name burned on the screen, a flare of history he'd long buried.
Without hesitation, he reached for his phone, and dialed.
The line clicked. "Sir."
"Do you have anything for me?"
A pause. "Yes. I was going to call tonight..."
Jace cut in, his tone icy. "You don't wait. I should never have to call you first."
"Understood."
He crossed the suite slowly, his bare feet silent against the floor. "Continue."
"We traced the leak to a young woman in Manhattan. Quiet life. Works at a university clinic. No major online footprint until six weeks ago. Then she started posting. Subtle, but intentional."
"Has she been approached?"
"She will be. Tomorrow. Quietly."
Jace's eyes flicked back to the screen. The Carrington name stared back, unwavering.
"I know who sent her. Ask anyway. Make her feel safe, not cornered. If she's a Carrington plant, we'll know."
"Understood."
He ended the call, dropped his phone onto the desk, and stared at the skyline. His mask stayed composed, but underneath; rage coiled, sharp and tight.
The Carringtons. Always them.
Always him.
He undressed, set his clothes aside, and moved toward the waiting bath. Rosewood-scented steam curled through the suite. He sank into the heat, but it did nothing to wash away the fire the Carringtons had lit inside him.
And for the first time in days, he allowed his mind to drift.
The lobby of Hotel Du Lac was quiet that morning, broken only by the clink of porcelain from the breakfast service and the occasional elevator bell.
Jane Hayes stood near the brass-trimmed doors, tablet in hand. She was ten minutes early, every detail of her appearance in place... except her eyes, which carried a restlessness she couldn't shake.
She glanced up as Jace Davis stepped out of the elevator, sharp in a tailored charcoal suit, coat draped neatly over one arm. His stride was charming. And his tie... perfect.
His gaze swept over her—cool, assessing.
"Did you sleep last night?"
Jane nodded. Too slight a nod. The kind that raised more questions than it answered.
Jace's tone dropped, quiet and final.
"If you compromise our work because you don't know how to take care of yourself, your job is already compromised."
No anger, just the exactness of a man who never missed. Then he walked past her and slid into the waiting car. He didn't look back.
Jane exhaled slowly and followed.
Inside, Jace was already on his tablet, eyes on a dossier. Jane opened hers, fingers steady, though she wasn't reading.
The truth: she had slept.
She'd deliberately set work aside, shut off her notifications, followed every rule her mother drilled into her.
But the dream still came.
It always did on June 4. Like clockwork. Like it was programmed into her DNA.
This time, it wasn't even June 4th and yet it had been no different, except that her mother wasn't there to shake her awake, whisper soothing words, and place the small white tablet beneath her tongue. The same one Jane had recently started skipping. She hadn't realized how many doses she'd missed.
Until last night.
The dream crawled up her spine in the quiet of her hotel suite.
A pale room.
A scream.
Hands, her own... drenched in blood.
A man's shadow.
She had woken drenched in sweat, staring out at the lights over Lake Zurich, waiting for the tremors to pass. They didn't.
There she was now, in the backseat of the black Mercedes, sitting professionally. But inside, was a fire she couldn't put out.
This job was the scaffold keeping her together. And each time Jace looked at her like she were a variable, something inside her loosened.
It was going to be a long day.
And if the dream returned tonight, she wasn't sure who she'd be by morning.