Page 64 of His Dark Desires

Last night, I found a schedule on his desk. My name appeared throughout the next month—gallery openings, private showings, dinner reservations. He's planning my future without asking.

The coffee turns bitter in my mouth as I look at the canvas. The piece is everything he wanted, a masterful blend of emotion and technology. It's also the last thing I'll create in this perfect prison. Whatever comes next, I know I won't be waking up here tomorrow.

I trace my signature in the corner, the paint still tacky under my fingertip. The quiet of the penthouse presses in around me, broken only by the soft whir of surveillance cameras tracking my every move.

They might record my every move, but they don't see what's coming.

The coffee grows cold beside my canvas as I check my phone again. 9:47 a.m. Adrian's board meeting starts at 10.

My heart pounds as footsteps echo down the hall. The door opens, and Mara's voice carries through the penthouse.

"The car's ready, Mr. Vale."

Adrian's response is clipped, preoccupied. Their voices fade, followed by the soft click of the front door. I cross to the window, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. Below, Adrian's black Mercedes pulls into traffic, carrying him away from what I'm about to do.

I count to 60 before moving. The hallway stretches before me, each step taking me closer to his private study. The door opens with a soft whisper—no need for force, not when I have the code he trusted me with last week.

His leather chair is still warm when I sit. My fingers shake as I type in his password. The moment I watched him enter it—my lips pressed against his neck, his guard down—burns in my memory. The screens flicker to life, bathing me in their cold blue glow.

Files upon files spread across the monitors. Each folder contains someone's life, stripped bare and categorized. My own folder sits prominently on the desktop, the largest by far. I push down the bile rising in my throat.

The encrypted email templates are ready on my laptop. I picked out three journalists, chosen for their track records with whistleblowers. My fingers fly across the keyboard, copying files, compressing data. The progress bar creeps forward as each piece of evidence transfers.

Surveillance footage, financial records, blackmail material, it's all here. I can barely wrap my head around the AI algorithms he used to track movements, predict behaviors, manipulate lives. The scope of his control network stretches far beyond what even I imagined.

A soft ding signals the completed transfer. First folder: done. Second folder: complete. The final archive is larger, taking precious seconds I can't afford to waste. The last file transfers just as a notification pops up on his screen—his calendar logging that the board meeting has ended early. The time stamp shows it was 10 minutes ago.

Shit.

But I have what I came here for.

I eject the USB just as I notice a group of folders. I quickly click in, not wanting to waste this moment. Patient data streams across one monitor, showing survival rates jumping by 40 percent with Adrian's diagnostic AI. Another screen shows security protocols protecting schools, hospitals, power grids.

My hands start to shake. The USB drive burns in my palm like a live coal. These aren't just corporate files—they're lifelines. A video feed shows a little girl receiving treatment, her doctors conferring over tablets running Adrian's software. In another window, researchers collaborate across continents, their breakthrough drug trials guided by his AI.

"Oh God," I whisper, sinking deeper into his chair.

Thousands of employees' faces flash past, not just tech workers, but janitors, cafeteria staff, security guards. People supporting families, paying mortgages, sending kids to college. I think of their children, their elderly parents depending on them.

The numbers scroll endlessly: diseases caught early, treatments optimized, lives extended. Adrian's obsession with control has built something bigger than his darkness.

I pull up more files, searching desperately for a way to separate Adrian's personal violations from the legitimate work saving lives. There has to be a middle path, a way to stop him without destroying everything good his company has built.

The USB drive slips from my trembling fingers. I catch it before it hits the floor, clutching it to my chest. The weight of thousands of lives presses down on me. I can't be responsible for that much collateral damage. I won't.

But I also can't let Adrian continue using his power to control and destroy people at will. There must be another way, something targeted. Something that stops the abuse without shattering the foundation supporting so many innocent lives.

The elevator dings in the distance. I try to close all the files with shaking hands, my mind racing. But my heart stops as the study door swings open.

Adrian fills the doorway, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. Our eyes lock, and I can't breathe. The USB drive burns in my palm like a brand of guilt.

His gaze sweeps over the scene—me in his chair, his private files splashed across the monitors, the damning evidence of my betrayal laid bare. The silence pulses between us, each heartbeat an eternity.

I want to speak, to explain about the lives his work has saved, about finding another way, but my throat closes around the words. His eyes drift to the drive in my hand, and I see something crack in his façade.

The gentle man who held me last night vanishes. His jaw tightens, and a coldness creeps into his expression that makes my skin crawl. The transformation is subtle but complete—like watching ice crystallize over deep water, beautiful and terrifying.

"Sophia." He speaks my name like it's foreign to him now, each syllable sharp.

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