Stellan’s gaze snapped from the glowing red dot to Linnea, his eyes two chips of ice. The silence in the penthouse stretched, taut as a wire, punctuated only by the distant thrum of the Spire’s infrastructure and the rapid thumping beneath Linnea’s own ribs. Seven meters. The distance felt like an abyss. His expression was a carefully constructed void, yet a tremor, almost imperceptible, tightened the corner of his mouth. He took a step, then another, closing the distance between them, each movement a predatory assessment. A harsh chime sliced across the suite before he could demand an explanation. It was not the soft notification of an incoming message, but the insistent, metallic ring of the main entrance being forcibly engaged. Stellan froze, his body coiling. His security system, designed to be impenetrable, had just been bypassed. The red dot on the screen, momentarily forgotten, seemed to pulse with a mocking rhythm. A low growl rumbled in the floorboards. The reinforced door slid open with a hiss, revealing Jesper Hojberg, a smirk plastered across his features, as if he owned the very air they breathed. Beside him stood a woman, tall and unnervingly poised, her platinum hair pulled back in a severe knot. Her tea-colored eyes swept over the room, landing on Linnea with amused malice. She wore a tailored emerald suit, sharp as broken bottle glass—Astrid, a former flame of Stellan’s and a known social climber. “Well, well,” Jesper drawled, stepping inside as if entering his own drawing-room. His gaze lingered on Linnea’s oversized dress shirt, then on the heirloom ring glinting on her finger. “Quite the hasty arrangement. Not even twenty-four hours, and you’ve already found yourself a… house guest.” His eyes flicked to Barnaby, who, sensing the intrusion, had emerged from behind the sofa, a low, rumbling warning in his chest. The terrier’s one good ear twitched. “And a new pet, I see. My, my, Stellan. Are you finally embracing domesticity? Or just collecting strays?” The visitor took a delicate step forward, her smile razor-thin. “Stellan, darling. We were just passing through, heard the rumors. You know how quickly news spreads through the Vestergard circles. A sudden engagement? To… who is this, exactly?” Her tone dripped with feigned concern, her eyes dissecting Linnea’s posture. “You usually have such exquisite taste, even in your fleeting distractions.” Linnea felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but a flicker of something colder, sharper, ignited behind her eyes. This was the exact scenario she had anticipated. She met the guest's gaze, her own steady. “Linnea Rostova. Stellan’s fiancée,” she stated, her voice calm and measured. “And you are?” The woman's smile didn’t waver, but a subtle tension tightened around her mouth. “Astrid. An old… acquaintance.” Her emphasis was designed to imply a deeper, more significant past with Stellan. “It’s just so unexpected, darling. Stellan isn’t one for whirlwind romances. He’s far too… pragmatic. Unless, of course, there’s a substantial incentive involved.” She paused, allowing the implication of gold-digging to hang in the air. “I recall a certain incident with the old shipping merger, Stellan, when a junior associate was suddenly promoted after an exhibition of affection with their CEO. One hears things, of course.” Her tea-colored eyes returned to Linnea with a smirk. Linnea’s breathing remained even. Without looking at Stellan, she held her ground. “The shipping consortium. Yes, I remember that scandal. Though, if my memory serves, it was the CEO’s *daughter* who benefited most from that scene, securing a lucrative executive position shortly after her sudden engagement to the struggling heir.” Linnea’s voice was quiet, delivered with surgical precision. “And wasn’t it around that time, Ms. Vancroft, that your family’s failing fund mysteriously secured a significant capital injection from that very heiress’s trust? A convenient coincidence, wouldn’t you agree? Especially given the subsequent collapse of the deal due to complications that benefited the heiress’s husband’s rival firm.” The socialite's composure shattered. Her lips thinned, and color drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale beneath her makeup. Jesper, who had been enjoying the unfolding drama, found his smug expression faltering. He knew her past, but the clinical recall was startling. He glanced at Stellan, whose features shifted from detached observation to raw surprise. Linnea, the unassuming executive assistant, had just dismantled her target with surgical precision. “You… you have no idea what you’re talking about,” the socialite sputtered, her voice losing its polished edge, a vein throbbing faintly at her temple. “That’s ancient history. Slander!” “Facts,” Linnea corrected gently. “Recorded filings, for those who bother to look beyond curated narratives.” She stepped forward, her posture rigid. “Much like the records of your subsequent ‘philanthropic’ ventures always coinciding with the acquisition interests of your wealthy partners. A pattern of strategic alliances rather than genuine affection.” Jesper’s smile vanished completely. He stepped between Linnea and his companion, his gaze hardening. “Enough, Rostova. You’re overstepping your bounds.” He reached out, his fingers trailing dismissively toward Linnea’s arm. “You may have fooled Stellan into this little charade, but you won’t fool me.” Before his fingertips could brush her sleeve, Stellan moved. He crossed the floor in a single violent stride, his hand driving against Jesper's chest in a primal shove. Jesper stumbled back into his companion, who let out a sharp gasp. Stellan stood over him, breathing hard, breaking his own rules of detached restraint out of unvarnished fury. “Don’t touch her,” Stellan said, his voice dropping into a dangerous rasp. He barred Linnea behind his shoulder like an iron barricade. Jesper recovered, rubbing his shoulder with spiteful satisfaction. “Getting possessive, are we?” he sneered. “Or is she just another asset you can’t bear to see someone else acquire?” Jesper, regaining his composure, reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, elegantly wrapped dossier. He tossed it onto Stellan’s polished mahogany desk. The wrapper was a deep, ominous charcoal. “A little parting gift, Stellan. Something to mull over with your new… fiancée. I’m afraid your precious mega-merger with the Aethelgard Collective is hitting a snag. They’re pulling out. Midnight. Effective immediately. Enjoy the last few hours of your empire, brother.” With a final smirk, Jesper turned, ushering his furious companion through the doorway. The steel panel hissed shut behind them, leaving silence in its wake. Stellan stood rigid, his chest heaving with barely suppressed fury. His eyes fell on the dossier, then slowly, deliberately, lifted to Linnea. The earlier suspicion about the Peregrine signal surged back, fueled by the dossier Jesper had dropped. “How did he get in?” Stellan demanded, his tone icy. “My security is impenetrable. How did Jesper Hojberg bypass every lock and scanner to walk through my doors without tripping an alarm?”

Fangs and Vipers