The Trojan Horse

Julian stepped out of the rain and into the foyer, bringing the storm with him.

The heavy glass door clicked shut, the sound oddly final, like the closing of a vault. He stood there for a moment, water dripping from his charcoal trench coat onto my polished concrete floors. He looked... impeccable. Even wet. Even after an hour drive in a downpour. His hair was slicked back, but not messy. His jaw was set.

He looked like safety. He looked like the cavalry.

And he terrified me.

"You're shaking," he said. It wasn't a question.

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. "It's cold in here," I lied. "The HVAC is acting up."

He unbuttoned his coat with slow, deliberate movements. "Or maybe you're just glad to see me."

He draped the coat over the Eames chair near the door. It was a casual gesture, one of ownership. He walked toward me, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. He stopped just inside my personal bubble—close enough to smell his cologne (sandalwood and expensive scotch), far enough that if I flinched, it would look rude.

"Show me," he said.

"Show you what?"

"The system. The logs. The ghost in the machine." He looked past me, scanning the living room. His eyes landed on the empty space on the coffee table where the rose... wasn't. Or maybe was.

I swallowed hard. "In the Core. Downstairs."

"Lead the way."

I turned and walked toward the hidden stairwell. I could feel his eyes on my back. It felt like being tracked by a thermal scope.

As we descended into the basement, the air grew colder. The Core was my sanctuary, my fortress within a fortress. But with Julian behind me, it felt like a trap.

I scanned my retina at the door. *Beep. Green.*

We walked in. The room was bathed in the blue light of the server racks. The hum was steady, reassuring.

"Impressive setup," Julian murmured. He walked straight to the main console, running a hand along the edge of the desk. "Better than what we had at the firm. You really went all out."

"I needed it to be secure," I said, leaning against the doorframe. I didn't want to get too close to him.

"Secure," he repeated. He sat down in my chair. *My* chair. He spun it around once, testing the hydraulics, then turned back to the screens. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

His fingers flew across the keyboard. He didn't ask for passwords. He didn't ask for access protocols. He just typed.

*Clack-clack-clack-clack.*

Lines of code scrolled down the center monitor. Green text on black.

"Here we go," he said after a minute. "You were right. Someone's been poking around."

"Who?"

"Hard to say. They're using a bouncing IP. Routing through... looks like Estonia. Then Singapore. Then a Starbucks in Tacoma." He chuckled darkly. "Amateurs."

"Can you stop them?"

" already did," he said. "I'm patching the firewall now. Rerouting the DNS through a private node. They won't get back in."

He hit *Enter* with a flourish.

On the screen, a dialogue box popped up: *SYSTEM SECURE.*

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, swiveling the chair to face me. "That was just the front door. We need to check the basement windows."

"There are no windows in the basement."

"Metaphorically, Elena." He stood up. "I need to do a physical sweep. Check the sensors. Make sure they haven't planted any hardware bugs."

"Hardware?" I asked. "Like... listening devices?"

"Cameras. Microphones. Keyloggers." He walked past me, heading for the stairs. "If they got into the software, they might have had physical access too. How long have you been alone here?"

"Three weeks," I said. "Since the construction crew finished the interior."

"Three weeks," he mused. "Plenty of time to plant a garden."

He started up the stairs. I followed him, feeling like a guest in my own home.

We spent the next hour walking through the house. Julian was thorough. He checked the smoke detectors (my heart stopped when he looked at the one in the living room, but he just nodded and moved on). He checked the vents. He checked the router.

Every room he entered, he owned. He moved furniture. He opened drawers. He touched my things.

"Clear," he said, closing the drawer of my bedside table. He glanced at the bottle of pills sitting there. Xanax. " Still taking these?"

"Only when I need to," I said, snatching the bottle and shoving it into my pocket.

"You need to be sharp right now, El. Chemicals dull the senses."

"Panic dulls them faster."

He smiled. A tight, thin smile. "Fair enough."

We ended up back in the kitchen. The storm outside had intensified. Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the world outside into a blurred gray smear.

"Well," Julian said, leaning against the island. "The system is clean. The house is clean. You're safe."

"For now," I said.

"For good," he corrected. "I installed a new protocol. 'The Watchtower.' It's an AI-driven monitoring script. It learns your patterns. If anything deviates—even by a millisecond—it locks the place down."

"Does it... does it watch inside the house?"

"It watches everything, Elena. That's the point."

I looked at the black glass of the window. I could see our reflection. Two people standing in a kitchen that looked like a spaceship. One of them was the captain. The other was the prisoner.

"You should go," I said. "The storm is getting worse."

Julian checked his watch. A Rolex Daytona. Vintage. "Actually, the switchback is probably flooded by now. I saw the mud starting to slide on my way up."

"You can take the service road."

"Washed out last week," he said. "Remember? Kevin sent that memo."

I didn't remember. I checked my email. There it was. *Subject: Service Road Closed for Grading.*

"Oh," I said.

"Looks like I'm stuck here," Julian said. He didn't sound upset about it. "At least until the rain stops."

"That could be days."

"Then we have days," he said. "We can use the time. Prep for the launch. Run scenarios. Maybe... talk."

"Talk about what?"

"About us," he said softly. "About what happened."

"Nothing happened," I said, my voice rising. "We got divorced. It's a legal procedure. It's done."

"Is it?" He took a step toward me. "Because you called me, Elena. You could have called anyone. You called me."

"I called you because you know the code."

"Is that the only reason?"

He was close now. Too close. I could smell the rain on his clothes.

"Yes," I lied.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers grazed my cheek. They were cold.

"You're a terrible liar, El. You always have been."

I pulled away. "I'm going to bed," I said. "You can take the guest room. The one down the hall."

"The one with the view of the driveway," he said. "Perfect."

"Goodnight, Julian."

"Goodnight, Elena. Sleep well."

I walked to my bedroom. I closed the door. I locked it. Then I engaged the manual deadbolt. Then I wedged a chair under the handle.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening.

I could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Opening the fridge. The clink of a glass.

He was making himself at home.

I pulled out my phone. I needed to tell someone he was here. Just in case.

I opened my text thread with Sasha.

*Me: He's here.*

*Sasha: Julian?*

*Me: Yes. The storm trapped him. He fixed the system.*

Three dots appeared. *Sasha is typing...*

*Sasha: Are you safe?*

*Me: I think so. He installed a new patch. 'The Watchtower.'*

*Sasha: Watchtower? That sounds intense.*

*Me: It monitors everything. Inside and out.*

*Sasha: Sounds like a prison.*

I stared at the message. *Sounds like a prison.*

My phone buzzed again. Another text. But not from Sasha.

Unknown Number.

I opened it.

It was a photo.

My heart stopped.

The photo was taken from inside a car. Rain blurred the windshield. Through the glass, I could see a house.

My house.

Specifically, the living room window.

And inside the window, two figures were standing. A man and a woman. The man was reaching out, touching the woman's face.

The timestamp on the photo was two minutes ago.

I looked at the text below the image.

*He's lying to you.*

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone.

I typed back: *Who is this?*

Three dots.

*Someone who knows what he did to the last girl.*

I stared at the screen. The last girl?

Before I could reply, a noise came from the hallway.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Deliberate.

They stopped right outside my door.

I held my breath. I watched the handle.

It didn't turn.

Instead, a shadow fell across the gap under the door. He was standing there. Just standing there.

Then, a sound.

Soft. Melodic.

Whistling.

*Hush, little baby, don't say a word...*

It wasn't coming from the speakers this time. It wasn't synthesized. It was real. It was right outside my door.

My phone buzzed again.

*He didn't come alone.*

I looked at the photo again. I zoomed in.

The angle.

The photo wasn't taken from the driveway. It wasn't taken from the road.

The perspective was too high.

It was taken from the roof.

The whistling stopped.

"Elena?" Julian's voice came through the wood. "Are you awake?"

I didn't answer.

"I forgot to tell you something," he said. "About the patch I installed."

I stayed silent.

"It has a biometric override," he said. "For emergencies."

The lock on my bedroom door beeped.

*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

Red light turned to green.

The deadbolt retracted with a heavy *clunk*.

The handle turned.

The door pushed against the chair I had wedged under it. The chair scraped against the floor, loud in the silence.

"Elena," Julian said. His voice wasn't gentle anymore. "Open the door."

I scrambled backward on the bed, grabbing the heavy brass lamp from the nightstand.

"Go away!" I screamed.

The door pushed harder. The chair legs groaned.

My phone buzzed one last time.

*Run.*