Chapter 8 Iris
IRIS
Istare at Alexi’s last message until the screen blurs.
You’re right. I’m impressed. No one’s ever gotten that deep into our systems. No one’s ever made me work this hard.
My hands shake as I close the laptop.
“Maya.” My voice comes out wrong. Too sharp. “We need to move.”
She looks up from her phone, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Move. New apartment. New city, maybe. Tonight, if possible.”
Maya sets her phone down slowly. “You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not.” I push back from my desk, pacing to the window. The street below looks normal. Too normal. “He knows everything, Maya. Where we live. My real name. My entire history.”
“So? You knew he’d figure it out eventually. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
“The plan involved breadcrumbs that I chose to leave.” I press my forehead against the cool glass. “Not... this. Not him looking at me like—”
“Like what?”
I can’t explain the way his last message felt. The shift from rage to something worse. Something focused and deliberate, and patient.
“He’s not playing anymore,” I say finally. “And we’re exposed here.”
Maya stands, crossing to stand beside me. Her reflection in the window shows concern now, the casual dismissal gone. “Okay. Walk me through it. What exactly does he have?”
“Address. Phone number. Education history. Probably work history by now.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Maya’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she shakes her head. “We’ve got good security, Iris. Three separate alarm systems, cameras on every entrance, and the panic room you insisted on installing. We’ll know if he comes for us.”
“Will we?” I turn to face her. “This is Alexi Ivanov we’re talking about. The guy who built half the dark web’s infrastructure before he turned twenty. You think our cameras will catch him if he doesn’t want to be caught?”
“You caught him at the gala.”
“Because he wasn’t hiding.”
Maya grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Listen to yourself. We can’t just uproot our entire life because you got a little reckless.”
“A little—”
“Yes, reckless. You wanted his attention; you got it. Now deal with it.” Her grip tightens. “Slow down on the Ivanov front. Let things die down for a few weeks.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then make it work.” She releases me, crossing her arms. “Redirect his attention. Do something. Anything except poking at him while he’s got a spotlight on you.”
I grab my laptop and open the lid. “Redirect how?”
“I don’t know, you’re the genius hacker. Frame someone else. Create a decoy. Make him think you’ve moved on to a different target.” Maya sits on the edge of my desk. “Just give him something else to obsess over that isn’t you.”
The idea has merit. Alexi’s fixation on the Phantom stems from intellectual challenge—being the first person to breach his systems and make him work. If I can shift that focus, make him believe the real threat lies elsewhere...
“I’d need to stay dormant on the Ivanov servers,” I say slowly, mind already racing through possibilities. “Complete radio silence. No traces, no signatures, nothing.”
“Exactly.”
“And fabricate evidence pointing to another hacker. Someone credible enough that he’d buy it.”
“Can you do that?”
My fingers drum against the desk. “There’s a Russian collective I’ve been tracking. They hit the DoD last month. If I can mimic their signature, plant some breadcrumbs suggesting they’ve been working the Ivanov systems...”
“Would he believe it?” She asks.
“Maybe.” I pull up my secondary laptop and already access encrypted files. “The timeline works. They’ve been active in Boston’s financial sector. And Alexi knows I work primarily alone. If a group suddenly shows up with similar capabilities—”
“He might think they recruited you.”
“Or that I was never the real threat. Just a distraction while they did the heavy lifting.” The plan crystallizes as I speak. “It’s plausible. Barely.”
Maya watches me work; concern is still etched in her features. “And what happens when he figures out it’s fake?”
“Then I’ll deal with it.” I open the first file, scanning code from the Russian collective’s last breach. “But right now, this is the best option we have besides abandoning everything we’ve built here.”
Maya sighs, defeated. “Fine. But I’m upgrading our security while you work. Motion sensors on the roof, thermal cameras, the works.”
“Good.”
She heads toward her room, pausing at the doorway. “And Iris? Maybe ease up on the sleeping pills tonight. I need you sharp if this goes sideways.”
I don’t answer, already deep in the code.
Replicating the Russian collective’s signature requires perfect precision—one wrong variable and Alexi will see through it instantly.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling apart their encryption patterns and studying the unique quirks of their malware architecture.
Two hours pass. The framework takes shape, layers of misdirection designed to lead Alexi away from me and toward a phantom threat. I’m building a ghost to chase a ghost.
My phone buzzes.
I ignore it, focusing on embedding the collective’s signature into old Ivanov server logs. Make it look like they’ve been there for weeks, hiding beneath my flashier intrusions.
Another buzz. Then another.
“What the hell?” I grab my phone, expecting spam.
Three messages from an unknown number.
Nice try with the Russian collective. But I’ve been tracking their movements for months. They haven’t touched our systems.
My stomach drops.
Besides, their code is crude compared to yours. Functional, but inelegant. You write like a concert pianist. They write like someone learning chopsticks.
I stare at the screen, mind racing. He’s watching. Right now. Monitoring my systems in real-time.
There’s no use deflecting, Iris. No use running. No use building decoys, moving apartments, or whatever plan you’re formulating.
The third message arrives as I’m processing the second.
I’ve found you now. And I’m never letting you go.
My hands go numb.
He’s in my system. Watching me work. Probably has been since the moment I opened my laptop.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking.
I type fast, before I can second-guess myself.
What do you want?
The response comes instantly, like he’s been waiting for me to ask.
Right now? I want to watch you squirm. I want to know if your cheeks are flushed pink and if you’re pressing your thighs together while reading this? I want to know if your breath catches when you imagine what I’d do if I showed up at your door.
Heat floods my face. I stare at the words, brain stuttering.
Not talking about code, sweetheart. That foreplay’s done. I’m talking about spreading you out on that desk you’re sitting at, pushing my cock between those smart-ass lips until tears streak that perfect makeup.
My breath catches. Just like he said.
Another message.
Bet you’d fight it. Probably scratch and bite and pretend you don’t want it. But I’ve seen how you operate, Iris. You’re obsessed with control because you’re terrified of losing it. And I’m the only person alive who could take it from you.
I should close the laptop. Block the number. Do literally anything except keep reading.
Wonder if you’d still be mouthy when I’ve got you bent over, fingers twisted in that blonde hair.
My core clenches. Actual physical reaction to words on a screen.
This is insane. I don’t do this. Don’t think about men, don’t date, don’t waste time on sex when there’s work to do. Haven’t touched anyone in over two years, and before that, it was mechanical. Necessary stress relief, nothing more.
But Alexi’s words spark something dark and hungry I didn’t know existed.
You there, Phantom? Or did I finally find something that shuts you up?
My hands shake as I type.
You’re delusional.
Am I? Then why haven’t you blocked this number? Why are you still reading?
Because I can’t stop. Because every crude, explicit word makes my pulse race faster. Because somewhere in my fucked-up brain, the idea of Alexi Ivanov—brilliant, dangerous, completely unhinged Alexi—wanting me like this does something no one else ever has.
That’s what I thought. Sleep well, Iris. Dream of me.
The messages stop.
I sit frozen, staring at my phone, body humming with unfamiliar need.
“What the fuck,” I whisper to the empty room.
I should shut down. Lock everything down and go to bed.
Instead, my fingers move across the keyboard with familiar precision.
If he’s been watching me, turnabout’s fair play.
It takes three minutes to breach his personal network. Another two to access his system’s camera feeds. He’s got security, layers of it, but nothing I can’t unravel. The arrogance of thinking I wouldn’t retaliate makes him sloppy.
His webcam feed loads.
My breath stops.
Alexi sits back in his chair, lean muscles visible beneath an open shirt. His hand is wrapped around his cock—thick, hard, obscene in size. He strokes himself deliberately, green eyes locked on the camera.
Like he knows I’m watching.
“Good girl.” His voice comes through my speakers, rough and dark. “Watch me stroke myself for you.”
Heat floods my body. I should close the feed. Should shut this down immediately.
But I can’t look away.
His hand moves faster, grip tightening as he works himself. The sight does something catastrophic to my control. My thighs press together, seeking friction that isn’t there.
“Bet you’re squirming right now.” His breathing roughens. “Wondering if you should touch yourself while you watch.”
My hand slides down my stomach before conscious thought catches up.
No. Absolutely not. I don’t—
But I’m already reaching into my desk drawer. Finding the vibrator I barely use. The dildo I bought on impulse months ago and never touched.
This is insane. I’m Iris Mitchell. I don’t fall apart over some exhibitionist hacker with a god complex.
Except I’m sliding my yoga pants down. Positioning myself in my chair. Wondering if he’s hacked my system too. If he’s watching me the way I’m watching him.
The thought makes me wetter.
I press the vibrator against my clit, gasping at the first jolt of sensation. On screen, Alexi’s hand moves faster, and I match his rhythm without thinking. The dildo slides in easily—I’m already soaked, body betraying every rational thought I’ve ever had.
“That’s it.” His voice growls through the speakers. “Show me how badly you want it, Iris.”
I angle my laptop screen so that the camera captures everything.
Two can play this game.
The dildo slides deeper as I work myself open, thighs spread wide so he can see exactly what he does to me. My free hand grips the desk edge, knuckles white as pleasure builds in sharp, unfamiliar waves.
“Fuck.” Alexi’s breathing roughens through the speakers. “Look at you. Perfect little cunt taking that toy like you wish it was me.”
A moan escapes before I can stop it. High and desperate and nothing like the controlled version of myself I present to the world.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you fall apart.” His hand moves faster on screen, pre-cum glistening on the head of his cock. “Bet you’re so wet right now. Bet you’d drip down my cock if I was there instead of that pathetic piece of silicone.”
I switch the vibrator to a higher setting, pressing it harder against my clit. The sensation makes my back arch, hips rolling to meet each thrust of the dildo.
“Tell me how it feels.” His voice drops lower, commanding. “Want to hear you say it.”
“Good.” The word comes out broken. “Feels so fucking good.”
“Better than when you touch yourself alone. Better than those cold, efficient orgasms you give yourself just to take the edge off?”
Yes. God, yes. This is nothing like the mechanical relief I usually seek. This is raw, filthy, and consuming.
“Answer me, Iris.”
“Yes.” I’m close already, body wound tight. “Better.”
“Because you’re thinking about me.” His grip tightens, stroking faster. “I bet you’re thinking about my cock splitting you open while my hands pin your wrists to the mattress. My teeth on your throat while I fuck you so hard you forget every smart-ass comment you’ve ever made.”
The image shatters something in me. I thrust the dildo deeper, matching the brutal pace of his hand on screen. My clit throbs under the vibrator’s relentless pressure.
“Come for me.” His words are a command, not a request. “Let me watch you break.”
The orgasm hits like a system crash—sudden, devastating, total loss of control. I cry out, legs shaking as waves of pleasure obliterate every coherent thought.
Through the haze, I watch Alexi’s hand move faster, rougher. His head tips back, throat exposed, muscles tense.
“Watch me.” His voice is gravel. “Watch me come thinking about filling that perfect cunt.”
I should look away. Should close the feed. Should—
His cock pulses, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach, his hand. The sight is obscene. Primal. Something I shouldn’t find hot but absolutely do.
“Look at it.” He strokes himself through the aftershocks, spreading the mess across his skin. “Next time, this is going inside you. Going to pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel it for days.”
Reality crashes back in with brutal clarity.
What the fuck am I doing?
Horror floods through me, cold and sharp. I just masturbated for Alexi Ivanov. Let him watch me fall apart. Let him see me lose control.
“There won’t be a next time,” I say, voice shaking.
His eyes lock on the camera, dark and satisfied. “We both know that’s a lie.”
“Don’t look for me.” My hands scramble for the laptop. “Don’t contact me. Don’t—”
“Too late, sweetheart. I’ve already seen everything.”
I slam the laptop shut hard enough that I hear the screen crack. When I open it back up, my reflection stares back from the darkened monitor—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, hair a mess.
Not me. This isn’t me.
I yank my yoga pants up with shaking hands, shoving the toys back in the drawer like they’re evidence of a crime. My legs wobble when I stand, body still humming with aftershocks.
The cracked laptop sits on my desk like an accusation.
I just gave Alexi Ivanov exactly what he wanted. Proof that he could break through my control. That beneath the careful walls and perfect systems, I’m just as fucked up and desperate as anyone else.
“Fuck.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Maya can never know about this. No one can ever know about this.
I grab my phone, fingers flying across the screen to initiate every security protocol I have. Lock down my systems, change every password, burn every bridge Alexi might use to reach me.
Three new messages light up the screen.
I don’t read them. I block the number instead.