The glow from Chika’s laptop was a small, defiant campfire in the dark expanse of her penthouse apartment. Royce slept in her bed, the steady rhythm of his breathing a stark contrast to the frantic beat of her heart. Verdant Logic’s first major client, a sleek European bank, was launching in six hours, and a ghost had appeared in her machine.
A single line of code, elegant and malicious, had inserted itself into the core authentication protocol. It wasn’t there yesterday. It was a masterclass in sabotage, designed to fail quietly on day thirty, leaking user data into a digital black hole. It was a kill shot disguised as a glitch.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, erasing the threat, reinforcing firewalls, her mind racing. Who? AetherTech? A jealous competitor? The code was too clean, too intimate it understood her architecture because it mirrored her own elegant style.
A warm presence materialized behind her. Royce’s hands, strong and sure, came to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the tight knots of her stress.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was a low, sleep-roughened murmur against her ear. The scent of him sandalwood and sleep wrapped around her, a distracting comfort.
“Just a last-minute check,” she lied, minimizing the terminal window. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. The fear was too fresh, the vulnerability too acute. This was her company, her battle. To admit it was under attack felt like admitting a weakness in the foundation they had just built together.
His hands stilled their kneading. He was looking at the reflection of the screen in the dark window, at the rapid scroll of code she’d tried to hide. He was too sharp to miss it.
“Chika.” His tone shifted, the mentor cutting through the lover. “What is it?”
She sagged under his touch, the truth a quiet surrender. “Someone’s in my systems. They tried to plant a time bomb.”
He was instantly awake, pulling up a chair, his focus absolute. For an hour, they worked in sync, a silent, efficient dance of diagnostics and digital forensics. His proximity was a current under her skin. When he leaned in to point at a corrupted log file, his bare arm brushed against hers. A jolt, hot and electric, shot through her, so intense she almost gasped. It was absurd, this flare of raw want in the midst of a crisis. She saw his jaw tighten, felt the minute pause in his movement. He’d felt it, too.
“The trail is cold,” he finally said, his voice tight. “They used a cascade proxy. A professional.” He turned to her, his face grim in the blue light. “This isn’t corporate espionage. This is personal. They weren’t just trying to break Verdant Logic. They were trying to break you.”
The unspoken word hung between them: AetherTech. Her old boss, the fish-microwaving innovator, had been quietly furious about her departure, about her success.
The launch was a nerve-shredding performance. Every smile Chika gave the clients felt painted on, every handshake a lie. Royce was her rock, a steadying force at her side, his hand a possessive, comforting weight on the small of her back that sent secret thrills up her spine. His protectiveness was a shield, and she found herself leaning into it, craving it.
That night, celebrating the successful and now secure launch at a private lounge, the adrenaline finally bled away, leaving a different kind of tension humming in its place. The danger had been averted, but the threat still lingered, making every sensation feel heightened, more vital.
They were in a shadowy booth, the murmur of the club a private cocoon. Royce was listening to a investor, but his entire attention was focused on Chika. His gaze dropped to her mouth as she took a sip of her drink. The look was a physical touch, a promise. Under the table, his hand found her knee, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on the inside of her thigh. The simple contact was incendiary. Her breath hitched, the same way it had the night she’d spilled her cosmo on him. This was no accident. This was an intention.
“You’re playing with fire, Mr. Allen,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath hot. “You built an empire on fire, Ms. Harris. I’m just trying to keep warm.”
The ride home in the back of the town car was charged with a silent, aching anticipation. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. His hand rested on her leg, his thumb still making those maddening circles, each one a tiny pulse of desire that pooled deep in her belly. She stared out the window at the blur of city lights, hyper-aware of the heat of his body beside hers, of the dangerous, unknown enemy in the digital shadows, and of the man next to her who made her feel both utterly safe and thrillingly unsafe all at once.
She had built her dream. She had found her man. But as the car sped through the neon-drenched night, Chika knew with a chilling certainty that someone was watching. And they weren’t just trying to crash her system anymore. They were trying to crash her life. The real fight was just beginning.
Thee Juju Aura 