New beginning: Billionaire love story

Eligos's fingers moved quickly across his keyboard as he hacked his way into Claire's computer system, a smug smile spreading across his face.

With a few more taps, he typed the message: "I know your secret." He hit send and leaned back, crossing his arms and letting out a chuckle. "It's like taking candy from a baby," he muttered to himself, thoroughly pleased with his handiwork.

Meanwhile, in her sleek Metacortex office, Claire's eyes darted to her monitor as a loud ping sounded. She clicked open the notification that had popped up on her screen, and a single line glared back at her: I know your secret.

"What is this?" she muttered under her breath, her brows knitting together in frustration. She began furiously typing, trying to trace the source. But whoever had sent the message had bounced the IP address across five different locations. The whole thing was practically a

maze.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Is this a joke?" she sighed, realizing that tracing the message was a waste of time. It seemed likely to be the same person who'd baited her into that trap a few weeks ago. But her thoughts drifted for a moment.

Yesterday, Cindy had mentioned knowing "her secret" too. Now this unknown sender was doing the same thing? It had to be more than a coincidence, but she pushed the thought aside. She wasn't about to let a few words on a screen shake her. Focus was essential. Back in his hideout, Eligos casually tossed a baseball against the wall, his mind already racing through possible ways to rattle Claire further. The ping wasn't enough; he wanted a bigger reaction, something that would get under her skin.

One of his men, standing nearby with a serious expression, interrupted his thoughts. "Why don't we just throw her in jail? That'd get some attention. Wouldn't that be a fun headline?"

Eligos caught the ball, his eyes lighting up as he considered the suggestion. "Now, that's an interesting idea," he mused, leaning forward. "I've got two options in mind, actually. One, we could expose her secret and tell the world who she really is-show everyone that she's the infamous Raven." He tossed the ball from hand to hand, thinking it over. "But that might be too easy. It's like finishing a good book after just one chapter. No, I need something more... engaging."

"So...?" his man prompted, eyebrows raised.

"So, we're going with Plan B. Imagine this: Claire gets hauled off to jail with a mountain of suspicion and barely any defense. We don't need her locked up forever, just long enough to make her sweat." Eligos's grin widened as he outlined his plan. "There's still the whole unsolved mess of that dead guy found in the trunk. She's already a prime suspect. If we plant the weapon used in that murder-let's say in her penthouse or car-and then I send a little tip to the police, she'll be cornered like a rat." His man nodded in agreement, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You really think they'll buy it?"

"Oh, they'll buy it," Eligos said confidently. "And before she can gather any evidence to clear herself, she'll be in jail, scratching her head, wondering what hit her. It's diabolical, but it's genius, if I do say so myself."

As Claire settled into her office for another day, the unsettling message was still fresh in her mind, though she refused to let it get to her. She was Claire Peterson, after all, not someone who'd buckle under the threat of a mystery email. The following day, however, her morning routine took an unexpected turn. She stepped out of her car in the Metacortex parking lot, her keys clutched in her hand, only to be greeted by two police officers standing by her car. "Claire Peterson?" one of them asked in an official tone, clipboard in hand.

"Yes?" she replied, keeping her tone steady.

"We need to conduct a search of your vehicle," he said, gesturing to the car.

Claire's stomach twisted with irritation, though she kept her cool. "May I ask what this is regarding?"

"We received a tip that some crucial evidence may be in your possession. We're following up on it," he explained, his voice devoid of emotion.

Before she could ask anything else,

the officers were already at work,

their gloved hands methodically searching the car. After a few tense minutes, one officer lifted something from the passenger seat—a small, slender knife wrapped in a clear evidence bag.

"This... can't be happening," she muttered under her breath, though her face remained stoic.

The officers exchanged looks, and then one spoke up, "Ms. Peterson, we're going to have to ask you to come with us for further questioning."

Claire's jaw dropped in disbelief. "What? No! I refuse. That isn't mine. I have no idea where it got there."

"Then can you explain why this in your car is?" The police lifted the knife and Claire's face morphed into a look of confusion.

"I-I don't know."

"You have no choice but to come with us, Ms. Peterson."

Claire's jaw clenched, but she nodded, understanding that protesting would only make things worse. She walked with the officers to their car, her mind racing through every possible way she could counter this.

On the other hand, Matthew blinked

at his TV, completely frozen as the words "Claire Peterson Arrested" flashed across the screen in bold letters. He couldn't believe it. Claire? Arrested? This had to be some sort of prank or media stunt. But no, there it was-the anchor was talking about it with all the seriousness of a national disaster.

"Are you kidding me?" he muttered, staring at the screen in horror. "This can't be happening."

Matthew fumbled for the remote, turning up the volume as he stared, mouth open, at the screen. There was a blurry shot of Claire, looking none too pleased as police led her away.

A video taken by a passerby showed her rolling her eyes and muttering something that, even though the screen, looked very close to a sarcastic insult.

"Oh, Claire," he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Of all the things... What in the world did she get herself into this time?"

Once he was in the car, he kept glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from her that said something like, "Haha, just messing with you." But his phone stayed silent. That was a bad sign.

Finally, he made it to the police station and stumbled out of the car, barely remembering to lock it. As he pushed through the crowd outside, he couldn't help but overhear snippets of the reporters' conversations.noveldrama

"Did you hear? They caught her red-handed!" "Isn't she some tech genius? I thought she'd be smarter than this."

Matthew rolled his eyes. They had

no idea who they were talking about. Claire might have been many things-intense, stubborn, a bit of a perfectionist-but she wasn't dumb, and she certainly wasn't a criminal. He pushed his way into the station, where he was met by a surprisingly calm desk clerk.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, breathless. "I'm here to see Claire Peterson. She's...uh...been brought in?"

The clerk glanced up, unimpressed by his urgency. "And you are?"

"Matthew. Matthew Finnegan. Her trusted advisor and her friend."