Page 1 of Game Over

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RYKER

TWENTY-ONE MONTHS AGO…

The light from her webcam glows red, revealing a tiny digital eye she thinks is off. That was a rookie mistake, Mischief. Two clicks through the backdoor I installed last week, and I’m in. Her face fills my second monitor—animated, alive, beautiful.

“Nice kill, Rogue! You saved my ass back there.” Her voice bubbles through my headset, music to my ears, while her character on screen reloads.

“Always watching your six.” If only she knew how literal that is.

We’ve been playing for three hours straight. My character and Mistress of Mischief—Kira Ellis, when she’s not dominating leaderboards. I found her three months ago when I was drowning in the pressure of scaling KentSec Systems. The company was expanding faster than anticipated, with government contracts and Fortune 500 clients demanding more time than I could give.

Gaming was my only escape. Late at night, when my executive team had finally gone home, I’d retreat to my private office and lose myself in virtual worlds where I controlled everything. That’s when I stumbled across her stream.

Most streamers were predictable—over-animated personalities selling a carefully crafted image. But Kira was different. She played with genuine passion, cursing colorfully when she lost, celebrating victories with an uninhibited joy I hadn’t felt in years. No performative bullshit, just raw authenticity in a world of fakery.

I joined her lobby on a whim. We won three matches back-to-back, her strategies complementing mine, like we’d been gaming together for years. When she sent me a friend request afterward, something shifted inside me. The billionaire CEO who commanded rooms full of tech giants felt a thrill at being noticed by this nobody streamer with barely a thousand followers.

“Same time tomorrow, Rogue?” she’d asked.

I’d agreed without hesitation.

What started as casual gaming sessions evolved into something deeper. Night after night, match after match, I learned more about her. She worked retail during the day and streamed at night, chasing a dream of making content creation her career. She lived alone with a collection of gaming memorabilia that meant more to her than status symbols. She’d rather spend Friday nights raiding with online friends than clubbing like others her age.

The more I learned, the more fascinated I became. Here was someone completely untouched by the cutthroat world I inhabited daily—someone genuine in a way I’d forgotten existed. The stark contrast between her life and mine—her modest apartment versus my penthouse, her struggle to make rent versus my offshore accounts—created an intoxicating dissonance.

I started skipping board meetings to play with her and rescheduling investor calls when they conflicted with her streaming schedule. My COO noticed, of course.

“Whatever’s got you distracted better be worth the company’s valuation dropping three points,” he’d warned.

It was worth far more than that.

One month in, I began testing her security systems—a simple probe, just to see how vulnerable she was. The ease with which I accessed her network should have horrified me professionally. Instead, it thrilled me personally. Her digital life opened before me like a book I couldn’t stop reading. Her emails revealed struggles with student loans. Her search history showed lonely Friday nights looking up “how to make friends as an adult.” Her photo gallery contained selfies she’d taken but never posted—beautiful, unfiltered moments of someone unsure of her worth.

I told myself I was protecting her, that someone with her lack of cybersecurity knowledge needed a guardian, that it was better for me than some actual predator. The lies we tell ourselves are always the most convincing.

Her room comes into focus behind her—posters of games I recognize, a bookshelf crammed with collector’s editions, and an unmade bed with dark purple sheets. I’ve memorized every inch of that space. Every detail is another piece of her I possess.

“One more round?” she asks, stretching her arms above her head. The motion lifts her shirt slightly, revealing a strip of bare skin above her sweatpants. My throat tightens.

“Can’t. Early meeting tomorrow.” The lie comes easily. “Raincheck?”

I have an early meeting about acquiring a smaller security firm to expand KentSec’s reach into Europe. But I’d cancel it in a heartbeat if she pushed harder. Years of building my company, and I’d risk it all for another hour in her digital presence. My board would have collective heart attacks if they knew their CEO was obsessed with a retail worker who streams games at night.

“Fine, abandon me.” She pouts, her lower lip jutting out. “Catch you tomorrow night?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Night, Rogue. Sweet dreams.”

If she only knew what I dream about.

Her avatar disappears from the lobby. The game closes on her end, but my connection to her remains unbroken. I minimize the game window, enlarging the webcam feed to full screen.

Kira sighs and rolls her neck, unaware of my presence, as she pulls off her headset. Her dark hair cascades down, falling across her shoulders. She reaches for her phone, scrolling through social media, laughing softly at something. Every expression is a gift she doesn’t know she’s giving me.

She scrolls through her phone while my fingers dance across my keyboard. Most people have no idea how easy it is to mirror a device when you’ve already infiltrated their network. Kira’s digital footprint is an open book to me—her passwords, browsing history, and private folders are all mine.

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