Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 28: Chapter 28
You are reading Signed To Be His Wife, Chapter 28: Chapter 28. Read more chapters of Signed To Be His Wife.
The morning after their confrontation with Darian Myles, the London sky was a blanket of gray. Rain tapped steadily on the hotel windows, but inside the suite, the air was charged with urgency.
Amara sat at the war table with Dominic, Nolan, and Tamara. They had reviewed every second of the footage from the penthouse meeting—every breath, every nuance.
“Did he bug you?” Nolan asked, scanning Amara’s coat and glasses.
“No signal,” Tamara confirmed. “But that was more than a conversation. That was bait.”
Dominic nodded. “Myles let us find him. He wanted us there. He wanted Amara to hear that offer.”
“And he wanted us to decline,” Amara said quietly.
They all looked at her.
“He knows we’ll retaliate. This is his way of pulling us deeper into his war, but on his terms.”
Nolan tapped a key. “Then we flip the script.”
Over the next 48 hours, the Cole Foundation went dark online.
Every traceable server, every public channel, every digital footprint—vanished. Not in defeat, but in metamorphosis.
They moved into Phase Echo.
An underground network of agents, whistleblowers, digital activists, and rogue techs. Invisible nodes across the globe. Decentralized. Secure.
“Think of it as a movement without a center,” Amara explained to a new recruit in Brussels. “We’re not top-down. We’re everywhere.”
Dominic added, “Myles built a machine. We’re becoming a virus.”
Tamara traced a critical connection: Myles’s power wasn’t just in influence or money. He was planning something called Project Specter.
It wasn’t fully documented, but it was referenced across shell companies and encrypted notes tied to Wolfe’s old data.
Gideon decrypted part of a recent Specter memo:
“Shift the lens. Control not what they see, but what they believe they’re choosing.”
Amara’s stomach twisted. “It’s not surveillance anymore. It’s manipulation at the decision-making level.”
Nolan explained, “Think targeted stimuli. AI-triggered responses. Emotional conditioning through content, tone, even social influence.”
Dominic rubbed his jaw. “Free will becomes programmable.”
They sat in silence.
Until Amara said, “Then we find Specter’s launch site.”
They divided the globe.
Tamara would follow the financial trails in East Asia.
Gideon would decrypt the new Ghost Network fragments bouncing off Canadian nodes.
Nolan and Dominic traced architectural and energy resource usage data. Anything pointing to large, hidden builds.
Amara? She would return to the root: Hart Enterprises.
Her arrival at Hart Enterprises HQ was met with whispers.
She wasn’t an intern anymore.
She was the woman who defied Wolfe.
The woman the media called “The Eye of the Storm.”
She walked through the marble lobby with confidence, flanked by a new security detail. Up to the 89th floor, to the executive archive—Victor Hart’s private office, sealed since his death.
Dominic had the legal key. But Amara had the personal one: her instincts.
Inside, dust covered the room like a forgotten memory. Old files, unused tech, sealed drawers.
She found what she was looking for tucked inside a hollowed legal codebook: a leather journal. Victor’s personal notes.
She flipped through pages until one name stopped her:
Darian Myles.
Victor had written:
Myles wants to own the soul of man. I wanted to own his attention. That’s why we broke. But he left me something… Specter.
Further down:
If it’s activated, the world will turn glass. But the glass won’t be transparent—it’ll reflect only what Myles programs.
Amara rushed back to the London team and handed the journal to Dominic.
“We need to stop the activation,” she said.
“Then we need to find the server,” Nolan added. “If Specter exists, it has to be run from a central processing AI. Something that big can’t float in the cloud.”
Gideon brought up satellite data. “Look here—energy spikes outside Marrakesh. A site labeled only as S-18. Remote. Buried in rock. Has its own weather dome.”
“Private ownership?” Tamara asked.
Gideon nodded. “Anonymous trust routed through Macau.”
“Myles,” Dominic said.
Amara stood. “Then we go.”
Two nights later, they arrived at the edge of the Sahara.
The base wasn’t visible on maps. But from above, using thermographic lenses, they could see the heat signature of subterranean life.
The team camped 1.5 miles from the perimeter. Drones circled, programmed to mimic wildlife.
Nolan laid out the infiltration plan.
“Phase one: silent entry through the drainage route.
Phase two: Gideon disables local surveillance.
Phase three: we get to the Specter Core. Copy everything. And destroy the interface.”
Amara looked at Dominic. “And if Myles is inside?”
“We finish what we started.”
They moved under cover of night.
The sand was cold. The silence unforgiving.
Through the drainage tunnels, into the lower labs.
Gideon’s jammer scrambled the internal motion sensors for exactly six minutes.
Amara and Dominic reached the Specter Core.
It was beautiful—and terrifying.
A chamber lined with mirror-like servers, blinking with soft light. In the center: a single console, glowing with the Specter symbol—an eye surrounded by flame.
Tamara whispered through the comms, “This is it.”
Dominic stepped forward. “Starting the data copy.”
Amara stared at the screen.
It showed real-time user behavior simulations across the globe. A girl in Tokyo changing her vote. A boy in Rio abandoning a protest. A mother in Lagos choosing a news source.
Specter was already live.
“Oh my God,” Amara breathed.
Nolan’s voice crackled. “We have company. Hostile on the east wing. Armed.”
Dominic pulled the copy drive. “Run!”
They dashed through the corridor, lights flashing red.
From behind, a voice rang out:
“You’re too late!”
Myles.
He stepped from the shadows, gun in hand. “You destroy that, and the world plunges into chaos.”
Amara turned to face him.
“No,” she said. “It finally wakes up.”
She hurled the flash drive to Dominic.
“GO!”
Gunfire erupted.
Amara ducked. Dominic fired back, striking Myles’s shoulder.
But Myles laughed, even bleeding.
“You can kill me,” he said. “But not the code.”
“Wrong,” Amara whispered.
She activated the emergency core shutdown protocol she found in Victor’s journal.
Lights dimmed. Specter’s servers began to fry.
“No!” Myles screamed, lunging forward.
Amara raised the weapon Dominic left behind.
“Goodbye, Darian.”
She pulled the trigger.
Myles collapsed.
The team escaped through the emergency tunnel as the Specter base burned behind them.
Back in London, Amara stood before the world again.
This time, she didn’t gi
ve a speech.
She gave them the code.
The files. The evidence. The truth.
Open source.
No agenda.
No filter.
Let the people decide what to believe.
And perhaps, for the first time in a long time, they truly could.
Amara sat at the war table with Dominic, Nolan, and Tamara. They had reviewed every second of the footage from the penthouse meeting—every breath, every nuance.
“Did he bug you?” Nolan asked, scanning Amara’s coat and glasses.
“No signal,” Tamara confirmed. “But that was more than a conversation. That was bait.”
Dominic nodded. “Myles let us find him. He wanted us there. He wanted Amara to hear that offer.”
“And he wanted us to decline,” Amara said quietly.
They all looked at her.
“He knows we’ll retaliate. This is his way of pulling us deeper into his war, but on his terms.”
Nolan tapped a key. “Then we flip the script.”
Over the next 48 hours, the Cole Foundation went dark online.
Every traceable server, every public channel, every digital footprint—vanished. Not in defeat, but in metamorphosis.
They moved into Phase Echo.
An underground network of agents, whistleblowers, digital activists, and rogue techs. Invisible nodes across the globe. Decentralized. Secure.
“Think of it as a movement without a center,” Amara explained to a new recruit in Brussels. “We’re not top-down. We’re everywhere.”
Dominic added, “Myles built a machine. We’re becoming a virus.”
Tamara traced a critical connection: Myles’s power wasn’t just in influence or money. He was planning something called Project Specter.
It wasn’t fully documented, but it was referenced across shell companies and encrypted notes tied to Wolfe’s old data.
Gideon decrypted part of a recent Specter memo:
“Shift the lens. Control not what they see, but what they believe they’re choosing.”
Amara’s stomach twisted. “It’s not surveillance anymore. It’s manipulation at the decision-making level.”
Nolan explained, “Think targeted stimuli. AI-triggered responses. Emotional conditioning through content, tone, even social influence.”
Dominic rubbed his jaw. “Free will becomes programmable.”
They sat in silence.
Until Amara said, “Then we find Specter’s launch site.”
They divided the globe.
Tamara would follow the financial trails in East Asia.
Gideon would decrypt the new Ghost Network fragments bouncing off Canadian nodes.
Nolan and Dominic traced architectural and energy resource usage data. Anything pointing to large, hidden builds.
Amara? She would return to the root: Hart Enterprises.
Her arrival at Hart Enterprises HQ was met with whispers.
She wasn’t an intern anymore.
She was the woman who defied Wolfe.
The woman the media called “The Eye of the Storm.”
She walked through the marble lobby with confidence, flanked by a new security detail. Up to the 89th floor, to the executive archive—Victor Hart’s private office, sealed since his death.
Dominic had the legal key. But Amara had the personal one: her instincts.
Inside, dust covered the room like a forgotten memory. Old files, unused tech, sealed drawers.
She found what she was looking for tucked inside a hollowed legal codebook: a leather journal. Victor’s personal notes.
She flipped through pages until one name stopped her:
Darian Myles.
Victor had written:
Myles wants to own the soul of man. I wanted to own his attention. That’s why we broke. But he left me something… Specter.
Further down:
If it’s activated, the world will turn glass. But the glass won’t be transparent—it’ll reflect only what Myles programs.
Amara rushed back to the London team and handed the journal to Dominic.
“We need to stop the activation,” she said.
“Then we need to find the server,” Nolan added. “If Specter exists, it has to be run from a central processing AI. Something that big can’t float in the cloud.”
Gideon brought up satellite data. “Look here—energy spikes outside Marrakesh. A site labeled only as S-18. Remote. Buried in rock. Has its own weather dome.”
“Private ownership?” Tamara asked.
Gideon nodded. “Anonymous trust routed through Macau.”
“Myles,” Dominic said.
Amara stood. “Then we go.”
Two nights later, they arrived at the edge of the Sahara.
The base wasn’t visible on maps. But from above, using thermographic lenses, they could see the heat signature of subterranean life.
The team camped 1.5 miles from the perimeter. Drones circled, programmed to mimic wildlife.
Nolan laid out the infiltration plan.
“Phase one: silent entry through the drainage route.
Phase two: Gideon disables local surveillance.
Phase three: we get to the Specter Core. Copy everything. And destroy the interface.”
Amara looked at Dominic. “And if Myles is inside?”
“We finish what we started.”
They moved under cover of night.
The sand was cold. The silence unforgiving.
Through the drainage tunnels, into the lower labs.
Gideon’s jammer scrambled the internal motion sensors for exactly six minutes.
Amara and Dominic reached the Specter Core.
It was beautiful—and terrifying.
A chamber lined with mirror-like servers, blinking with soft light. In the center: a single console, glowing with the Specter symbol—an eye surrounded by flame.
Tamara whispered through the comms, “This is it.”
Dominic stepped forward. “Starting the data copy.”
Amara stared at the screen.
It showed real-time user behavior simulations across the globe. A girl in Tokyo changing her vote. A boy in Rio abandoning a protest. A mother in Lagos choosing a news source.
Specter was already live.
“Oh my God,” Amara breathed.
Nolan’s voice crackled. “We have company. Hostile on the east wing. Armed.”
Dominic pulled the copy drive. “Run!”
They dashed through the corridor, lights flashing red.
From behind, a voice rang out:
“You’re too late!”
Myles.
He stepped from the shadows, gun in hand. “You destroy that, and the world plunges into chaos.”
Amara turned to face him.
“No,” she said. “It finally wakes up.”
She hurled the flash drive to Dominic.
“GO!”
Gunfire erupted.
Amara ducked. Dominic fired back, striking Myles’s shoulder.
But Myles laughed, even bleeding.
“You can kill me,” he said. “But not the code.”
“Wrong,” Amara whispered.
She activated the emergency core shutdown protocol she found in Victor’s journal.
Lights dimmed. Specter’s servers began to fry.
“No!” Myles screamed, lunging forward.
Amara raised the weapon Dominic left behind.
“Goodbye, Darian.”
She pulled the trigger.
Myles collapsed.
The team escaped through the emergency tunnel as the Specter base burned behind them.
Back in London, Amara stood before the world again.
This time, she didn’t gi
ve a speech.
She gave them the code.
The files. The evidence. The truth.
Open source.
No agenda.
No filter.
Let the people decide what to believe.
And perhaps, for the first time in a long time, they truly could.
End of Signed To Be His Wife Chapter 28. Continue reading Chapter 29 or return to Signed To Be His Wife book page.