EPISODE 4
The city hadn’t stirred yet, but she had.
The morning arrived not with warmth, but with precision.
In the heart of a skyline carved by wealth and whisper, Irene awoke not from sleep, but from scheduled stillness.
No alarms.
Her body moved like it had been coded—dispassionate, efficient, exact— every movement precise, every breath calculated.
Sheets tucked. Floors silent. The air was still, as if the walls themselves feared breaking her rhythm.
She didn’t eat.
Not because she forgot.
But because she didn't need to.
There was no hunger, only habit.
Food was optional. Control was not.
The penthouse sat in silence, all steel and slate, bathed in cold sunlight. Her steps echoed against marble floors as she passed the untouched espresso machine. Her life was an algorithm. Her name was order.
She dressed in charcoal grey.
Minimal. Immaculate. Armor.
Outside the sky turned from coal to chrome.
Below, a black car waited without a horn or signal.
It knew better. Everything in her world did.
She descended, a shadow wrapped in silence, entering the world like a locked file: encrypted, unreadable, untouchable.
At the same moment, on the far edge of the world above, his jet touched down.
She didn’t know it—
but she was about feel it.
The glass corridor shimmered ahead—built to feel open, but watched from every angle.
She moved like a ghost through light.
As she stepped into the glass corridor, her shoulder brushed someone’s passing form.
Familiar in the strangest way.
Unspoken static.
She didn’t look back. Neither did he.
They passed like clouds across each other’s edges,
but something in her circuitry shifted.
Only for a second.
A flicker. A presence that felt like recognition—but made no sense.
And then it was gone.
But little did she know, very soon the algorithm was about to glitch.
The world called her a tech queen.
But she wasn’t royalty.
She was the algorithm.
Crypteq wasn’t built on dreams. It was forged from precision—designed to out think governments and outlive trends.
And she ran it with the same calm she wore like perfume: invisible but undeniable.
She was strict, not because she needed to be, but because the moment she wasn’t, someone would mistake her silence for weakness.
Crypteq was no ordinary tech empire.
It didn’t build devices. It built systems. Silent ones.
Architecture for the future, fire walled against sentiment.
And she—
she was the fortress.
Every employee knew her code:
Speak only when required.
Execute flawlessly.
Emotions stay at home, or you don't come in at all
She had written the code of the kingdom—and it didn’t allow warmth.
She arrived without an announcement.
The glasshouse gleamed like truth, but she knew better—it was designed to look vulnerable, while seeing everything.
A place where liars dressed their words in civility.
Across from her, a man smiled like someone who thought charm could overwrite corruption.
Salerno Virelli.
All charm and success on the surface.
Beneath, something darker than most dared to name.
He wore a mask—sleek, black, elegant.
No eyes visible. Just a smooth grin carved by habit and design.
They faced each other not as strangers, not as allies, but as two storms whose paths had finally collided under controlled skies.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“You run your empire like a machine,” *he said, voice slick, rehearsed.* “I admire that.”
He smiled too perfectly.
She didn't return it.
Irene Wynter (FL)
*No smile. No nod. Just that glacial stillness that unnerved men like him.*
“I don’t run it like a machine,” she said. “I run it better than one. Machines can still be hacked.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
He chuckled, leaned back, showing teeth.
“I think you and I could build something extraordinary. A very strategic union. Power and power. No emotions. Just outcomes.”
She let the silence sit, as heavy as consequence.
Irene Wynter (FL)
“You’re mistaking stillness for agreement. I came here knowing what you are. And what you’re hiding beneath those clean quarterly reports.”
*cold, calculated*
Salerno Vernelli
..........
*His smile faltered, just barely.*
“You knew about the ties… and still came?”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“Of course.”
Her tone didn’t shift.
“Because I wanted to see how deeply you’d lie to me while pretending to collaborate.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“You stayed,” he said, voice smooth, cunning. "I take that as interest. Or caution."
Irene Wynter (FL)
*Irene tilted her head, not flinching, not blinking* “You’re the kind of man who deserves both.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
*He chuckled*
“And you’re the kind of woman no one ever sees—yet somehow everyone fears. Fascinating paradox.”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“Visibility is weakness. I prefer precision over recognition.”
Her voice was velvet, sharp at the edges. “The world doesn’t need to know who runs Crypteq. Only that it never fails.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
He leaned closer—only a measured inch.
“And yet here you are, masked in glass, talking to a man with a reputation.”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“A man whose hands are dipped in bleach, but still smell of blood,” she replied, without flinching.
“I know what your company does. What it funds. What it launders.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
His smile faltered—just a fracture.
“Then why agree to meet?”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“Because what you need from my systems... you can’t code yourself. And what I need from your distribution… I can’t buy on paper.” *blank but sharp*
Silence stretched between them.
Dangerously beautiful. Threatening. Intimate in its hostility.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“You know, Ms. Wynter—”
Irene Wynter (FL)
*He began, but she cut him off, her tone-- incisive*
“No one calls me that. Not here. Not anywhere.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“Then what do they call you?”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“They don’t.”
A pause.
“And that’s why I’m still standing.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
*He paused. Then nodded slowly. With Respect, not submission.*
“We’re both ghosts, then. Ghosts in glass empires.”
Irene Wynter (FL)
*Nodding slightly. Acknowledging*
“Until one breaks,” she replied.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
*He smirked, challenging*
“Will that be you or me?"
Irene Wynter (FL)
She offered a half smile—dangerously calm.
“That depends on who lies first.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
No blink. No shift. Just silence thick with implication.
Then, almost simultaneously, they stood—two ghosts wrapped in tailored suits and veiled truths.
Virelli adjusted his cuff links, casual as if the room hadn't just trembled between them.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“The files,” he said finally. “The breakdown, specs, collaboration clauses—I’d like them sent before week's end.”
Irene Wynter (FL)
Irene gave a acknowledging nod—nothing exaggerated.
“My PA will notify you of the schedule. You’ll receive everything when necessary.”
Salerno Vernelli
..........
He paused, gaze flickering behind the mask.
“So,” he asked, voice curling with curiosity, “if it was all going to be handled through encrypted lines and cold inboxes… why meet me in person?”
A beat passed. Not hesitation—intention.
Irene Wynter (FL)
She looked at him, gaze sharply cutting through his mask. Her tone as composed as a sharpened code.
“Because before I make a deal,” she said, “I prefer to see the cracks in the dealer.”
It wasn’t flirtation.
It wasn’t threat.
It was observation—clinical, unnerving, surgical.
Something in him stilled. His mask hid the expression, but she could feel it.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
*Mind blank. Bluntly-- “You read people like you're debugging a program.”
Irene Wynter (FL)
“I don’t read people,” *slow, measured. As if reading him through and through.*
“I just notice when they lag.”
She replied, already turning away.
She walked out before he could answer.
And this time, the sound of the door closing behind her didn’t echo—it thudded like a verdict.
She knows about his underworld dealings. He knows she’s hiding more than a name.
The deal is clean, the intentions are not.
Their mutual masks protect their personal empires—and both know removing them would start a war neither is ready for.
The deal was not a handshake.
It was a tension—a line drawn.
Salerno Vernelli
..........
“Interesting,” he murmured smirking.
He stood there. Stunned. Speechless.
And then-- his smirk deepened. As if he found something interesting.
It was the first time someone challenged him. Threatened him. Humiliated him. But he didn't mind as if he found something worth his humiliation.
The meeting with Mr. Salerno went as I expected. He looked for vulnerability, but I handed him precision instead.
To face a man like him, It didn’t need courage. It needed control—and that, I make sure, I never ran out of.
Today I felt something unfamiliar yet so close. It felt as if years after, my body was trying to avoid a void. But my avoidance wasn’t fear—it was strategy. And I never made emotional investments in unstable markets.
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