Chapter 2
LILIAN
PLAYLIST: PRINCESSES DON’T CRY – CARYS
“Get me that idiot in here before the pricing meeting, or I’ll have all your heads for it!
” I roar through the room at the team. Usually, shouting is not my style at all, but there is only so much a woman can take, especially under pressure.
And right now, the shareholders, the investors, the government, and the President of the United States himself are breathing down my neck.
I close my eyes, inhale, exhale, and let the anger flush out of me as I slip back into my baseline of cold and functional.
The past few weeks leading up to going public have been stressful and draining, but I don’t mind.
In my thirty-seven years on this planet, I’ve built two companies from scratch into high-value public firms. The second one made me a billionaire within three years of its IPO.
An AI-based dating platform with an 83% match success rate—people spent like crazy on the app, and the investors were ecstatic.
I used that money and my knowledge to build my current company. The idea hit me during a night of overindulgence with acquaintances. Using AI matching for dating wasn’t a stretch for government use; the same logic applied to building profiles of potential terrorists and other criminals.
I spent weeks brooding over it, pulling all my contacts, who made the government interested, which led to the necessary funding. The prototype delivered promising results; the final product is as effective as it is dangerous.
What we do is a never-ending topic of discussion.
The AI, Zeus, infiltrates government systems, matches data from online and private sources, and builds profiles on people.
Its main use is to fight crime and locate individuals, but it keeps improving, making connections no human could, and it's becoming predatory software that could do much more. None of it can ever become public. The public knows only that it’s a system to boost government efficiency, and it has already caused uproar.
If they knew the truth, chaos would inevitably follow; that is why we all work under high security.
Tomorrow is finally the day of the IPO. We all worked our asses off, and of all the people who could have gone missing, it had to be Jared Sutton, our CFO.
Damnit, Jared, what did you do?
I always knew Jared was a risky card with his lifestyle of drugs, women, and powerful friends, but bringing him in opened government doors. He’s the reason we secured the audience with the President and why the company took off.
“Lilian,” says my personal assistant, snapping me out of my thoughts. “A word outside.”
The urgency in his eyes tells me enough. I nod and follow him.
The office is open-plan, except for my office and the glass-enclosed rooms for confidential meetings. We step outside, and I immediately know it’s something bad.
“What is it?” I snap. Dave is good, but far too soft and emotional for my taste.
He holds up his phone with horror in his eyes. A news report plays.
Jared Sutton, 45, was found dead in his Manhattan penthouse last night. Officials say it was an overdose, though investigations are ongoing…
My eyes freeze on the screen. My mind races.
“Fuck,” I breathe out as something cold rushes through my stomach. I don’t care about Jared; I care about my company and my reputation. Everything from here on will be a mess.
I can’t tell what exactly it is, but I have a very strange gut feeling about what I just read.
Focus! I command myself, trying to get back into strategy mode. I’ve never been emotional; what mattered were numbers and results, but I can’t shake the feeling that’s crawling up on me.
“I’ll handle the room,” I say. “We’ll have to review the books; a death the day before an IPO screams suspicion.
Everything has to be perfect. The police will show up, and I want to give them everything they need so there won't be any further questioning and digging. And we’ll need a board meeting. Call them in.”
Whatever happens, an investigation into the company—and, therefore, me—cannot occur.
The day and night are a nightmare. The stock exchange halts the IPO pending clarification—millions, if not billions, evaporate. The board roasts me. And I find irregularities in the books that no one can explain because it was Jared’s scope.
“Cops are here,” my assistant says. It’s 8:30 p.m.
I rest my head in my hands. My straight blonde hair falls into my face, hiding my exhaustion. I have to pull myself together.
“Can I get you anything?” Dave asks. “You didn’t eat. I can stall the police.”
“No,” I say and get up, straighten my suit and roll my shoulders —business mode it is. “I’m seeing them now.”
Dave nods. “Conference two.”
I walk down the corridor with confidence. The whole floor buzzes, occupied with damage control.
At a glance, the visitors look federal. I expected it. Probably the FBI. My eyes land on the man in a black suit with a slim tie, then linger on the very muscular woman in tight pants. My weakness for trained women betrays me, and I let my gaze linger a second too long on her.
“Miss Knightly,” the woman says straight forward, shaking my hand. “Agents Reese.” She nods to her colleague. “And Park, FBI. We’re here to talk about Jared Sutton.”
“I assumed. I saw the media coverage. We’re in total shock. Any news?”
“We’re working on it. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Please.” I gesture to the chairs.
“When’s the last time you heard from him?” Agent Reese asks.
“Two days ago. We worked late. He left around ten to meet friends at a bar downtown. My assistant can get you the footage of that day.”
“We’d appreciate that. Did you know about his drug use?”
“Everyone knew. He was a risk, but his network outweighed his…extracurriculars. He never showed signs at work. He was punctual, thorough, and well-prepared. Always on top of his game.”
“Did his death benefit you?”
I laugh genuinely.
“His death is a disaster. The IPO is halted, investors are panicking, and the media is tearing us apart. We handle sensitive data. His death threatens everything.”
“Anyone who might want to stop the IPO or harm your company?”
“I can give you a list of threats we got so far—physical and digital. I’ve received enough death threats to hire three bodyguards. People want to shut us down.”
“Enemies of Sutton?” Reese asks. Her green eyes study me like she can read my bones. In any other setting, I’d absolutely make a move.
“Jared had powerful friends. That alone puts someone in danger.”
“Ever see him fight with anyone?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. Just normal disagreements regarding our business.”
“Specify?” Agent Park asks; he’s the silent, observant type.
“He always pushed for exponential growth. Sometimes into paths I wasn’t willing to go.”
“Illegal paths?” Park asks.
“He pushed boundaries. But I never let him overstep. I’d never risk the company.”
“You seem prepared,” Park notes.
“I always am. That’s why I’m as successful as I am.”
They ask for the footage and the threat list. I provide it.
Before they leave, I ask, “So you think he was murdered?”
“We’re gathering information,” Agent Reese says. “A death this close to an IPO, the nature of your business, his connections—you understand.”
They advise me to be careful. As if I’m not already.
“He had the same protection as I do,” I say. “If not more extensive.”
“Did he ever mention why he needed so much protection?”
“We all need protection. Jared was a bit paranoid sometimes, but we all received death threats. There were open protests. I once had a dead rat stabbed onto my front door. He had an unknown powder in the mail. People love threatening us. I always believed that since I’m the CEO and the one who had the idea, I’m the main target, especially as a woman. ”
The agents leave, and the moment the door slides closed, my mask drops. A rare moment of vulnerability crushes me and makes me roll back my shoulders. I can’t tell what it is, but that sensation in me is rooted in fear. Fear of being next, or worse, the past catching up with me.
He died in his own home, they were Pro’s, whispers the fear in me.
“It was an overdose,” I tell myself sharply. His drug use has been extensive. He crashed often. Maybe he simply overdid it.
Still, I text my bodyguard Doug to be on high alert, not that he wouldn’t be.
Six hours later, I leave the office with Doug by my side, and we step into the Manhattan night. He’s the only person I trust right now. My body is worn out, and my mind acts like a squirrel on cocaine. I glance left and right constantly, expecting someone to jump at me.
Nothing whatsoever happens. Doug’s hand, guiding me softly to the armoured car, calms me. He seems to be less on edge than I am.
My brownstone on the Upper East Side means peace, usually. But tonight, fear overcomes me and chews on my insides like a growling monster waiting for me to snap.
Jared had security, too. Look where that got him, a voice in me whispers.
“Doug,” I say, leaning forward. “Break the routine. I want a hotel. High security. Book it under a false name, and decoy the house.”
“Yes, Lil, of course.”
The Ritz-Carlton checks me in twenty minutes later. After a thorough sweep of the room, a glass of red wine, and several deep breaths, I feel safe enough to call Jared’s security.
“It’s me, Lilian,” I say as soon as they pick up. “Tell me what you know.”
Jared’s head of security tells me what happened and how no one entered or exited the apartment around the time of his death. He also tells me that Jared got a new delivery of cocaine this week.
Room service arrives mid-call.
A gorgeous red-haired woman pushes in the cart—long legs, incredible ass.
Doug checks her with a quick body search and nods to me.
I gesture for her to come in and set the plate down.
She arranges everything perfectly, plates, food, cutlery, and I love it.
My life runs on perfection, from my meals to my business.
“And you know nothing?” I ask the head of security. “Nothing on the cameras?”
“No, nothing.”
“Do you believe the OD story?” I ask, watching the woman bend over the table to set the flowers right, giving me the perfect view of her ass.
Damn. I feel a tingling in my core. Stressful days always drive me towards sexual release.
Any other day, I’d absolutely make a move, but today I am too exhausted and stressed out.
“At this point, likely,” the man says through the phone. “Either they were like ghosts, or he finally overdid it.”
My fear screams it wasn’t an overdose. But fear is never a good consultant, so I shut the voice out.
“Keep me updated. I want everything, even the stuff that doesn’t land with the cops.”
Another surge of fear rolls through my body. Jared had many secrets, and if any of them are unveiled, it will cause vultures to haunt me, and none of it can happen. I need to get my hands on what Jared had, especially what he had on me.
“Of course, ma’am,” says the Head of Security.
I hang up.
“Here,” I say to the woman, as I walk up to her, handing her a ten-dollar bill. Her scent is an unobtrusive vanilla, fitting the overall innocent impression I have of her. She meets my eyes briefly, gives a tiny curtsey, and steps back. Damn hot, such a pretty shyness. And those green eyes…
I grab her hand, our fingers meet, and the moment I do, a tingling runs through my body.
A longing desire.
I stare at her.
I don’t even know what I am doing here.
I can’t get distracted.
Not right now.
I let go of her, and she stares at me as if she has seen a ghost, before she turns and hurries away.
I watch the soft fabric caress her ass as she leaves. But I can’t. I have to control my impulses. I turn to Doug as the woman leaves.
“Doug, we need to get the files before anybody else does,” I say as he closes the door.