Page 39 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
“Fuck!”
I scan the data, stomach tightening as I read through the log.
Files accessed. Permissions changed. Confidential data downloaded. All bearing Chanel's digital signature.
“Yeah. But we knew that already," Tyson adds.
"Yes, sir." Collins swipes to a new screen—a side-by-side comparison of access behaviors. "Except now the new entries are scattered, opportunistic. Almost random."
Unease crawls up my spine. The more I study the patterns, the more convinced I become. This isn't careful mimicry anymore. This is blatant and reckless.
Tyson shakes his head. “Or someone who doesn't care if we notice the difference."
I look up at that. "Meaning?"
"Meaning this isn't just about access anymore. It's about sending a message." He hesitates. "There's more."
Collins takes the tablet, pulls up another file. A series of emails sent from Chanel's account to an external address—one I recognize immediately.
Margana Ardano.
Megan.
Red burns the edges of my vision.
“When were these sent?"
"Between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. While both you and Ms. Warren were asleep."
The content is damning—audit details, internal assessments, confidential data points. Nothing critical, but enough to suggest corporate espionage. Enough to end Chanel's career if made public.
"She's getting bolder." I set the tablet down, anger rising like a tide. "Sloppier."
"Or more desperate," Tyson adds.
We share a look that doesn't need words. We both know what this means. Megan isn't trying to hide anymore. She's forcing a confrontation.
Collins clears his throat. "Sir, there's one more thing. The photo leak—it didn't come from inside our network. It came from Ms. Warren's phone."
The implications land like a physical blow. “How and the fuck did she hack Chanel’s phone?"
"Remote access. Probably activated when she connected to our network."
I absorb this, calculating my response, ready for this threat to end. If she can access her phone, they can access everything—emails, texts, photos. Her entire digital life exposed.
Including Jaden.
The thought sends ice through my veins.
"Lock down all her access points. New credentials, new devices, new protocols. And increase security at her house."
"Already done, sir. But?—"
"But what?"
Collins hesitates, weighing his words. "Whoever's doing this... they're not just after data. They're after her. Specifically."
I already know this. Have known it since the first breach. This is personal—a vendetta wrapped in corporate sabotage.
