Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 27: Chapter 27
You are reading Signed To Be His Wife, Chapter 27: Chapter 27. Read more chapters of Signed To Be His Wife.
The air inside the new safehouse outside Prague was stale, thick with anticipation and the scent of recycled coffee. Amara sat at a small wooden desk, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of a silver flash drive.
They were underground—literally. Beneath an abandoned museum, deep within a vault once used to protect rare artifacts during war.
Now, it protected something even rarer: the truth.
Across from her, Dominic watched her in silence. His eyes were no longer the sharp blue of the businessman she met at Hart Enterprises. They had grown darker—weathered by war, betrayal, and love.
“We need to talk about Myles,” he said.
Amara looked up. “Go ahead.”
Dominic hesitated, then pulled a faded leather file from his backpack. “This belonged to my father. It’s everything he knew about Darian Myles. Before Wolfe, before Elena.”
He opened it, revealing yellowed documents, blurred photographs, and coded letters.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” he continued. “But this goes deeper than anything we’ve seen. Myles wasn’t just a sponsor. He created the doctrine.”
Amara frowned. “Doctrine?”
Dominic tapped a line on one page:
Information is sovereignty. Those who shape perception, shape nations.
It was signed simply: D. Myles.
For the next few hours, the team combed through the file.
Tamara highlighted connections between Myles and media conglomerates in South Asia. Nolan cross-referenced tech firms and political campaigns.
“Look at this,” Gideon called. “He built an AI prototype fifteen years ago. A prediction engine based on social behavior. Funded through shell companies in Geneva.”
“He’s not just a manipulator,” Amara said. “He’s an engineer of belief.”
And now, they knew he was alive.
That night, Amara couldn’t sleep.
She walked down the narrow stone corridor of the safehouse, the hum of servers and backup batteries echoing softly.
She opened the old vault at the far end and stepped inside the Core Room—their secured intel command center.
Holograms floated in the air. Live satellite feeds. Data grids. Real-time threat assessments.
But one screen was blinking red.
Nolan’s encryption AI had detected a new breach attempt.
She tapped the panel and decrypted the signal manually.
Another message:
“RUN WHILE YOU CAN. THE GHOST NETWORK SEES YOU.”
Amara swallowed hard. The Ghost Network was only a rumor—an elite group of shadow agents allegedly used by rogue intelligence factions. No names. No faces.
Just actions.
And now, they were watching.
By morning, Amara had called an emergency meeting.
“We’ve confirmed the breach came through a server in Morocco,” Nolan said. “Then it bounced through Cuba, Iceland, and Indonesia.”
“Classic Ghost protocol,” Dominic muttered.
“Who do they work for?” Gideon asked.
“Anyone,” Amara replied. “Corporations. Countries. The highest bidder. And now they’re after us.”
Tamara crossed her arms. “Then we need to move again. Go silent.”
“No,” Amara said firmly. “We’ve been hiding long enough. We go to the source.”
“You mean…?”
“We find Myles.”
The search began in Istanbul.
Amara, Dominic, and Nolan tracked the most recent money transfers from the photo of Myles’s jet. One of the flagged banks had a satellite office in the city.
They posed as representatives from a fictional investor group and secured a private meeting with the bank manager.
The manager—a sharp, middle-aged woman with cold eyes—was cautious.
“Mr. Myles doesn’t bank with us under that name,” she said coolly.
Amara smiled. “Of course not. But the Phantom Trust does.”
The woman flinched.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dominic leaned forward. “Then we’ll assume you’re hiding a fugitive wanted for crimes against humanity.”
Her mask cracked. “I don’t deal with threats.”
“Good,” Amara said. “Neither do we. Just truth.”
In the end, it wasn’t the threat that broke her—it was the truth Amara already had. Names. Numbers. Dates.
The woman finally gave them a flight manifest.
Three days ago, Myles flew to Canary Wharf, London.
Back in the safehouse, the team planned.
“This time, we go in with full surveillance,” Nolan said. “No direct confrontation. We gather intel. Watch. Wait.”
Tamara loaded blueprints of Myles’s known property in Canary Wharf—an upscale penthouse with private drone security.
“He won’t leave anything to chance,” Dominic warned.
Amara nodded. “Neither will we.”
The next night, Amara and Dominic arrived in London under new aliases. Nolan and Gideon had set up an ops room in a nearby hotel suite.
Amara dressed in a sleek black coat, glasses with embedded audio, and a small contact camera.
She approached the building as a courier, carrying a fake legal envelope.
Security stopped her.
She smiled. “Delivery for Penthouse 8. Confidential legal notice.”
They scanned the envelope. Nothing dangerous.
She was waved through.
Inside the elevator, her heart thumped.
“Eyes on you,” Nolan’s voice came through the earpiece. “Security cameras looping. You’re clear for now.”
The elevator stopped.
She stepped into a glass hallway. The city sparkled below.
A man stood at the far end.
Tall. Silver hair. Sharp jaw. Navy blue suit.
Darian Myles.
Older than his photos. But just as terrifying.
He turned slowly, as if expecting her.
“Ms. Cole,” he said.
Amara froze.
“How do you—”
He smiled. “Do you think I let people find me by accident?”
“You’ve hurt a lot of people,” she said.
“I shaped them,” he replied. “Gave them order.”
“You manipulated the world.”
He shrugged. “And it ran smoother than ever.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “To offer you a seat at the table.”
Amara blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve proven yourself. Brilliant. Unshakable. The world believes you. But belief is a currency—and I own the bank.”
“I’d rather burn it down.”
He laughed. “So did Wolfe. Look how that ended.”
She clenched her fists. “You’re finished.”
He leaned in. “No, Amara. I’m just beginning. And you… you can choose whether you want to be erased or remembered.”
Her mind raced. Was this a bluff? A test?
“Choose carefully,” he said. “I don’t offer twice.”
The elevator behind her dinged.
She turned. Dominic stepped out, gun holstered.
Myles didn’t even flinch.
“I see you brought backup.”
“I see you brought arrogance,” Dominic replied.
For a moment, all three stood in silence.
Then Amara said, “We don’t need your table. We’re building our own.”
She walked away.
Dominic followed.
As the elevator doors closed, Myles smiled.
“Let the war begin.”
Back at the hotel, Amara pulled off her glasses and
stared at her reflection.
“We were never going to change this quietly, were we?” she asked.
Dominic shook his head. “No. But we’ll win loudly.”
She took his hand.
And together, they began the next phase of the revolution.
They were underground—literally. Beneath an abandoned museum, deep within a vault once used to protect rare artifacts during war.
Now, it protected something even rarer: the truth.
Across from her, Dominic watched her in silence. His eyes were no longer the sharp blue of the businessman she met at Hart Enterprises. They had grown darker—weathered by war, betrayal, and love.
“We need to talk about Myles,” he said.
Amara looked up. “Go ahead.”
Dominic hesitated, then pulled a faded leather file from his backpack. “This belonged to my father. It’s everything he knew about Darian Myles. Before Wolfe, before Elena.”
He opened it, revealing yellowed documents, blurred photographs, and coded letters.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” he continued. “But this goes deeper than anything we’ve seen. Myles wasn’t just a sponsor. He created the doctrine.”
Amara frowned. “Doctrine?”
Dominic tapped a line on one page:
Information is sovereignty. Those who shape perception, shape nations.
It was signed simply: D. Myles.
For the next few hours, the team combed through the file.
Tamara highlighted connections between Myles and media conglomerates in South Asia. Nolan cross-referenced tech firms and political campaigns.
“Look at this,” Gideon called. “He built an AI prototype fifteen years ago. A prediction engine based on social behavior. Funded through shell companies in Geneva.”
“He’s not just a manipulator,” Amara said. “He’s an engineer of belief.”
And now, they knew he was alive.
That night, Amara couldn’t sleep.
She walked down the narrow stone corridor of the safehouse, the hum of servers and backup batteries echoing softly.
She opened the old vault at the far end and stepped inside the Core Room—their secured intel command center.
Holograms floated in the air. Live satellite feeds. Data grids. Real-time threat assessments.
But one screen was blinking red.
Nolan’s encryption AI had detected a new breach attempt.
She tapped the panel and decrypted the signal manually.
Another message:
“RUN WHILE YOU CAN. THE GHOST NETWORK SEES YOU.”
Amara swallowed hard. The Ghost Network was only a rumor—an elite group of shadow agents allegedly used by rogue intelligence factions. No names. No faces.
Just actions.
And now, they were watching.
By morning, Amara had called an emergency meeting.
“We’ve confirmed the breach came through a server in Morocco,” Nolan said. “Then it bounced through Cuba, Iceland, and Indonesia.”
“Classic Ghost protocol,” Dominic muttered.
“Who do they work for?” Gideon asked.
“Anyone,” Amara replied. “Corporations. Countries. The highest bidder. And now they’re after us.”
Tamara crossed her arms. “Then we need to move again. Go silent.”
“No,” Amara said firmly. “We’ve been hiding long enough. We go to the source.”
“You mean…?”
“We find Myles.”
The search began in Istanbul.
Amara, Dominic, and Nolan tracked the most recent money transfers from the photo of Myles’s jet. One of the flagged banks had a satellite office in the city.
They posed as representatives from a fictional investor group and secured a private meeting with the bank manager.
The manager—a sharp, middle-aged woman with cold eyes—was cautious.
“Mr. Myles doesn’t bank with us under that name,” she said coolly.
Amara smiled. “Of course not. But the Phantom Trust does.”
The woman flinched.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dominic leaned forward. “Then we’ll assume you’re hiding a fugitive wanted for crimes against humanity.”
Her mask cracked. “I don’t deal with threats.”
“Good,” Amara said. “Neither do we. Just truth.”
In the end, it wasn’t the threat that broke her—it was the truth Amara already had. Names. Numbers. Dates.
The woman finally gave them a flight manifest.
Three days ago, Myles flew to Canary Wharf, London.
Back in the safehouse, the team planned.
“This time, we go in with full surveillance,” Nolan said. “No direct confrontation. We gather intel. Watch. Wait.”
Tamara loaded blueprints of Myles’s known property in Canary Wharf—an upscale penthouse with private drone security.
“He won’t leave anything to chance,” Dominic warned.
Amara nodded. “Neither will we.”
The next night, Amara and Dominic arrived in London under new aliases. Nolan and Gideon had set up an ops room in a nearby hotel suite.
Amara dressed in a sleek black coat, glasses with embedded audio, and a small contact camera.
She approached the building as a courier, carrying a fake legal envelope.
Security stopped her.
She smiled. “Delivery for Penthouse 8. Confidential legal notice.”
They scanned the envelope. Nothing dangerous.
She was waved through.
Inside the elevator, her heart thumped.
“Eyes on you,” Nolan’s voice came through the earpiece. “Security cameras looping. You’re clear for now.”
The elevator stopped.
She stepped into a glass hallway. The city sparkled below.
A man stood at the far end.
Tall. Silver hair. Sharp jaw. Navy blue suit.
Darian Myles.
Older than his photos. But just as terrifying.
He turned slowly, as if expecting her.
“Ms. Cole,” he said.
Amara froze.
“How do you—”
He smiled. “Do you think I let people find me by accident?”
“You’ve hurt a lot of people,” she said.
“I shaped them,” he replied. “Gave them order.”
“You manipulated the world.”
He shrugged. “And it ran smoother than ever.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “To offer you a seat at the table.”
Amara blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve proven yourself. Brilliant. Unshakable. The world believes you. But belief is a currency—and I own the bank.”
“I’d rather burn it down.”
He laughed. “So did Wolfe. Look how that ended.”
She clenched her fists. “You’re finished.”
He leaned in. “No, Amara. I’m just beginning. And you… you can choose whether you want to be erased or remembered.”
Her mind raced. Was this a bluff? A test?
“Choose carefully,” he said. “I don’t offer twice.”
The elevator behind her dinged.
She turned. Dominic stepped out, gun holstered.
Myles didn’t even flinch.
“I see you brought backup.”
“I see you brought arrogance,” Dominic replied.
For a moment, all three stood in silence.
Then Amara said, “We don’t need your table. We’re building our own.”
She walked away.
Dominic followed.
As the elevator doors closed, Myles smiled.
“Let the war begin.”
Back at the hotel, Amara pulled off her glasses and
stared at her reflection.
“We were never going to change this quietly, were we?” she asked.
Dominic shook his head. “No. But we’ll win loudly.”
She took his hand.
And together, they began the next phase of the revolution.
End of Signed To Be His Wife Chapter 27. Continue reading Chapter 28 or return to Signed To Be His Wife book page.