The photo still glowed on Yuna's phone screen.
Taken from across the street, just minutes ago. Grainy, zoomed in. Her silhouette on the balcony. Alexander's shape behind her. It should've looked romantic.
It didn't.
It looked like a warning.
> You're not hiding. You're hunted.
Her breath caught.
Alexander took the phone from her silently, eyes hardening as he scanned the image. "This wasn't a paparazzi shot."
She already knew that.
No one posted it. It was sent directly. Privately.
"This came from an encrypted number," he said, already moving toward the security panel embedded in the wall. "I'll have it traced."
"How did they get that close?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "You said they locked this place down."
"It is." He keyed in a code. "Which means either they slipped through… or they never left."
Yuna stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," he replied without looking back, "that if someone's watching us this closely, they've already breached more than our windows."
A monitor slid out from the wall, revealing surveillance feeds from every angle of Wolfe Tower. Alexander tapped one, enhancing the zoom on the surrounding buildings. "There," he said after a moment. "Sixth floor, apartment across the street. The light seemed to go out just as the photo was taken."
"So they're watching from there?" Yuna asked.
"They were."
Alexander made a call, his voice sinking into that now-familiar lethal calm. "Blake. Apartment 6A across the street—surveillance priority one. I want eyes in twenty minutes. And double security around this building."
"Yes, sir," came the reply.
Yuna sank onto the armrest of the couch. Her palms were cold.
"They're escalating," she murmured.
Alexander turned to her. "That's what happens when the people who pull strings realize the puppet just cut her own."
Fifteen minutes later, the penthouse was no longer a home. It was a fortress.
Security teams moved in—tight-lipped men with discreet weapons and sharp eyes. Austin arrived next, still in his signature tailored blazer and glasses, but this time he carried a briefcase instead of gossip.
"I'm updating your public itinerary," he told Yuna. "We'll make some appearances less predictable. You'll change hotels mid-day, vary driver routes. No single pattern."
Yuna nodded, numb. "So this is how power feels like. Hunted in heels."
Alexander glanced up. "It means you're a threat now. That's not weakness. That's leverage."
She looked at him, searching his face. "Are you scared?"
"No." He paused. "I'm furious."
She didn't ask what that looked like yet.
She would soon enough.
The next morning, she woke in the guest suite to the sound of whispers—security agents coordinating, floors being swept, Austin's voice sharp and efficient.
Yuna dressed quickly and made her way to the main living area. Alexander stood at the window, phone in one hand, a tablet in the other. His shirt sleeves sat high on his arms, jaw tight, hair slightly tousled like he hadn't slept.
"You okay?" she asked.
He didn't look away from the screen. "They found the apartment. Empty. Whoever was watching us left behind surveillance tech—top-tier. Military-grade. Hidden cameras, thermal scopes."
Yuna's blood ran cold. "They saw everything."
He looked up then, meeting her eyes. "Yes."
That single word held more weight than she could bear.
"But they also left a message," Alexander added. "Something carved into the wall."
"What did it say?"
He hesitated.
Then: "Some wolves bite. Others wait."
A beat of silence passed between them.
"They know your reputation," Yuna said slowly. "They're taunting you."
"They think they know me," Alexander corrected. "But they've forgotten the most dangerous thing about a wolf."
She raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
He looked her dead in the eye. "We always hunt in silence."
That evening, the two of them made their next public appearance—an art gala in Tribeca.
Alexander's team insisted they show no weakness.
Yuna wore a black satin gown with a dagger-like slit and the obsidian wolf's pendant he gave her. It wasn't jewelry anymore. It was armor.
The whispers followed her from the moment she stepped out of the car.
> "That's her…"
> "The ex-bride?"
> "No—the Wolfe's woman now."
She smiled when she had to.
Held his arm when the cameras clicked.
Played the role.
But her eyes never stopped scanning the crowd. Every flashbulb felt like a bullet. Every smiling stranger felt like a threat.
Inside the gallery was a maze of mirrors and oil paintings. Art that cost more than most people's homes lined the walls. Alexander leaned down to whisper, "If someone makes a move tonight, they'll do it in a crowd. It's cleaner. Disguisable."
Yuna nodded, adrenaline thrumming. "Let them try."
But the night passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Until—
Austin approached them mid-conversation with a pale face and a phone in his hand.
"What is it?" Alexander asked.
"Someone just leaked footage to an anonymous blog," Austin said. "Security cam. From inside Wolfe Tower."
Yuna's stomach turned. "From inside?"
Alexander took the phone and pressed play.
It was grainy—but clear.
Yuna. In her guest suite. Brushing her hair.
Alexander, entering moments later with a file.
Nothing salacious.
But intimate.
Too intimate.
There was no audio—but the camera angle was perfectly placed to catch their eyes locking, the way she tilted her head when he stepped closer.
It wasn't surveillance.
It was voyeurism.
Yuna's face drained of color.
"Tell me this isn't real," she whispered.
"It is," Alexander said grimly. "And it means someone's inside."
Yuna's throat tightened. "Inside Wolfe Tower?"
"Worse," he said. "Inside my circle."
Back at the penthouse, the atmosphere shifted.
All cameras were re-scanned. Each keycard was revoked. The security team turned inward, checking employee records and timestamps.
Alexander didn't say much.
But when he did, it was to give orders like a man preparing for war.
"This leak wasn't random," he told Yuna. "It was chosen. This moment—us alone. They want the world to believe we're weak in private. That you're not a partner. That you're the prey."
"I'm not," she said coldly.
"I know."
"But someone wants to make me look like it."
His silence said everything.
Later that night, Yuna sat in the kitchen alone, tea in her hand, robe wrapped tight around her. Her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Just one line.
> You're looking the wrong way, princess. The knife's already inside the house.
She stared at it until her eyes blurred.
Then she got up.
Walked straight to Alexander's office.
He was on a call, tense. She didn't wait for him to finish. She dropped the phone on the desk in front of him.
"Read it."
He did.
And when he looked up, something raw flickered across his face. Not anger. Not panic.
Recognition.
"They're playing psychological warfare," he said.
Yuna leaned in. "Then it's time we play back."
He looked at her, studying the tension in her jaw, the fire in her eyes.
"Say the word," he said softly, "and we start hunting."
She didn't flinch.
"Start."
Hours later, a new message appeared on a dark web forum used by anonymous political and financial brokers.
No username.
No trace.
Just a file upload.
Two photos: Alexander Wolfe and Yuna Eastin. Red Xs over both their faces.
And a new line of text.
> They think they're predators. Let's remind them who owns the leash.