CRUMPLING the report in his white-knuckled grip, Rhys’s jaw flexed. Raw fury burned behind his eyes, a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path. He slammed the crumpled papers onto the mahogany desk, the sound echoing sharply in the silent office. “Explain this,” he bit out, his voice low, dangerous. His gaze bored into Mark, head of Kestrel’s internal security. Mark, usually unflappable, shifted uncomfortably. “No external breach, Mr. Kestrel. No forced entry. And the footage… completely corrupted, only for that specific time window.” Mark swallowed hard. “It points to someone inside. Someone with high-level access.” Rhys’s knuckles were white, pressing against the polished wood. The raven carving, small and sinister, lay on the desk beside the damaged hard drive. Lyra. The name was a venomous whisper in his mind. She was back. “Find them,” Rhys commanded, his voice a low growl. “Tear this company apart if you have to. I want every employee vetted, every access log scrutinized. I want every single shadow illuminated.” Mark nodded, his face pale. He understood the gravity of Rhys’s tone. This wasn’t just about corporate sabotage. This was personal. Rhys’s thoughts immediately flew to Elara. She was the target. Lyra wouldn't bother with anything less. Lyra was a ghost, a predator. She had vanished years ago after a failed attempt to undermine his sister’s empire, leaving a trail of quiet destruction. Now, she was setting her sights on Elara’s project, on *Elara*. Standing abruptly, Rhys strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the sprawling city. Elara. Her vibrant spirit, her unwavering dedication. The thought of her being a pawn in Lyra’s twisted game made a cold dread settle in his stomach. He would not allow it. Returning to his desk, he stared at the raven. Lyra’s signature. A warning, a promise of pain. He would turn that promise into her downfall. First, he needed to ensure Elara’s safety. “Mark,” Rhys said, his voice calmer now, but laced with an unyielding steel. “I need your best. Your absolute best.” Mark straightened. “Sir?” “I want Agent Thorne assigned to Ms. Vance,” Rhys stated, his gaze unwavering. “Full-time. Twenty-four-seven. She doesn’t leave his sight. Not for a moment. He reports directly to me, and only to me.” Mark’s eyes widened slightly. Agent Thorne was a legend, a former black-ops operative Kestrel Corp had managed to poach. He was reserved, ruthless, and absolutely loyal. Assigning him to an employee, even a lead artist, was unprecedented. “Understood, Mr. Kestrel,” Mark replied, his voice firm. “I’ll arrange it immediately.” Minutes later, a knock sounded on Rhys’s office door. “Come in,” he called, his eyes still fixed on the raven carving. Elara entered, her shoulders slightly slumped from the day’s devastation. Her eyes were still a little shadowed, but there was a spark of defiance in them. She carried a small box, presumably containing the few personal items she’d managed to salvage. Behind her, a tall, imposing man with a severe haircut and an unreadable expression stood silently. Agent Thorne. “Elara.” Rhys stood, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly as it met hers. “I’ve arranged for some additional security for you.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Security? For me?” “Considering what happened to your studio, it’s a precaution,” Rhys explained, keeping his tone even. He didn’t want to alarm her, not yet. “Agent Thorne will be your personal escort until this matter is resolved.” She glanced at Thorne, then back at Rhys. “Is that… really necessary? I can take care of myself.” A slight blush crept onto her cheeks. “It is,” Rhys affirmed, his voice leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t just about damaged property, Elara. We believe this was a targeted attack. And you were the target.” Elara’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing her features. The full weight of the situation seemed to descend upon her. She looked from Rhys’s resolute expression to Thorne’s stoic face, then back again. “I… I see,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand instinctively went to the small, delicate chain around her neck – a familiar gesture whenever she was feeling overwhelmed. “Thorne will take you home,” Rhys continued, his voice softer now, almost an intimate command. “He’ll ensure your apartment is secure, and he’ll be waiting for you in the morning. For now, try to rest.” She nodded slowly, a dazed look in her eyes. The idea of constant surveillance felt strange, suffocating even, but the underlying concern in Rhys’s voice was unmistakable. It was a tangible presence, a sudden warmth against the cold dread. Moving towards the door, Elara clutched her box tighter. Thorne opened the door for her, his movements fluid and watchful. She paused at the threshold, turning to look at Rhys one last time. He stood by his desk, his presence commanding, a fortress of resolve. His gaze met hers, a silent, potent message passing between them. No words were exchanged, but Elara felt the weight of his unspoken promise. It was a promise of protection, of swift and brutal retribution against anyone who dared to threaten her. As Agent Thorne gently guided her out, pulling the door shut behind them, Elara glanced back. Through the glass wall of Rhys’s office, she saw him still standing there, watching them leave. His jaw was set in a grim, unyielding line, his eyes dark, reflecting a silent, dangerous vow of vengeance. The canvas of his revenge was just beginning to be painted. She was just a brushstroke in his furious masterpiece, but an important one. He was not just protecting his project; he was protecting *her*. Word Count: 910

Chapter 17: A Protective Shield