The harsh fluorescent lights of the Gene Clinic assaulted the eyes. The air hung heavy with a nauseating blend of antiseptic and cloying perfume—a failed attempt to calm visitors that only heightened their irritation.

Viola Sterling perched on an ivory leather sofa, her manicured fingertips absently tracing the smooth armrest. Her razor-sharp black suit suggested she'd stepped directly from a boardroom rather than deliberately visiting this exclusive clinic that catered to the elite with its gene optimization and fertility services.


Her face remained impassive, as though the world around her existed in a different dimension entirely.

Across from her sat Selina Cole, draped in a soft apricot cashmere dress, fingers resting deliberately on her still-flat stomach—a gesture both elegant and pointedly suggestive. She fixed Viola with a smile calibrated to mathematical precision.

"Mrs. Sterling," Selina purred, her voice velvet-wrapped barbs, "What a delightful surprise. Seeking fertility consultation as well?"


She paused, her gaze deliberately sliding to Viola's folded hands. "Though I've heard hands that handle… 'corporate cleansing' rarely manage to cradle new life. Electromagnetic exposure, psychological trauma—everything comes with a price, doesn't it?"

"Corporate cleansing." Such a sanitized term for Viola's work for the Blackthorn Family—those surgical financial strikes that bankrupted competitors, collapsed empires, and sometimes drove rivals to take their own lives.


In Selina's insinuation, Viola's hands dripped with invisible blood.

Viola raised her eyes, her gaze scalpel-sharp. "Miss Cole," she replied, her voice arctic and unwavering, "Focus on your own affairs. The Blackthorn heir isn't conceived through wishful thinking."

Selina's smile widened, dripping with false sympathy and undisguised triumph. "Lucas is absolutely thrilled about our baby. He calls it his fresh start—his farewell to all those… unpleasant chapters." She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a theatrical whisper that carried perfectly, "He says my hands are clean—perfect for nurturing new life."

Dark chapters. The past.

Viola felt an icy vise clamp around her heart. Her face betrayed nothing, though her fingertips curled almost imperceptibly.

"Is that right?" Viola replied with glacial composure, her gaze shifting beyond Selina to the sealed treatment room door. "Then I wish you every success."

A nurse emerged just then, beckoning Selina in for her prenatal treatment. Selina rose with swan-like grace, treating Viola to the retreating view of someone who believed they'd won.

Viola watched the door swing shut. Time to exploit a system vulnerability.

She rose and headed toward the restroom—a move innocent enough to avoid suspicion. Inside the stall, she extracted a wafer-thin device from a concealed compartment in her purse: a miniature signal Interceptor. She pressed it against her inner wrist, where skin contact activated its protocols.

Back in the waiting area, she settled in with practiced nonchalance. The Interceptor was already harvesting and cloning the clinic's network protocols and biometric signatures from the nurse's station—a process requiring only minutes.

A nurse wheeled a medication cart past her toward Selina's treatment room. Viola's eyes flicked over the cart's electronic lock display; the Interceptor had already gained sufficient access. Her fingers danced across the miniature Controller concealed in her palm.

Once the nurse disappeared into the treatment room, Viola approached the medication dispensary's external interface. She swept her wrist over the scanner—the Interceptor perfectly mimicking the head nurse's biometric signature. The panel flashed green and slid open silently. She quickly identified Selina's medication compartment containing the prepared fertility supplement.

From her handbag, she produced an identical vial—a carefully prepared substitute loaded with concentrated abortifacients. She executed the switch with surgical precision, securing the original in a hidden compartment of her bag. The entire operation took under ten seconds. The panel sealed shut, leaving no evidence of tampering.

She returned to her seat, removed the Interceptor and tucked it away, her demeanor betraying nothing. Minutes later, the nurse finished administering Selina's injection. Viola dispassionately checked her watch, mentally calculating the compound's timeline.

Hours later, an encrypted alert reported Selina's emergency hospitalization. The notification flashed across Viola's neural interface while she worked in her private lab. She dismissed it without reaction and continued her task.

Her laboratory hummed under sterile blue-white illumination, precision instruments operating in whispered efficiency. She retrieved a miniature biological container from the temperature-controlled storage unit. Inside floated Selina's terminated embryonic tissue suspended in preservation medium. With practiced hands, she transferred the tissue to a reinforced glass vessel.

The vessel's stark, clinical lines resembled a modernist sculpture. Taking up a laser engraving tool, she began etching the underside with meticulous precision. A pattern emerged—intricate yet refined lines forming a blooming iris, its petals edged with sharp curves and the faintest hint of crimson.

Red iris. The Cole family emblem. A secret Lucas believed was his alone.

She connected to the blockchain network, generating a unique digital credential linked to the bio-container. Title: "Project B-07 Termination Certificate."

Date, timestamp, genetic hash values—cold, precise data forming an immutable death certificate. She micro-etched the credential code into the heart of the red iris pattern.

Work complete, she nestled the container in a matte black metal case lined with deep crimson velvet. She summoned her quantum-encrypted delivery drone.

"Deliver to the penthouse of Blackthorn Tower. For Lucas Blackthorn's eyes only," she commanded, her instructions leaving no room for interpretation.

The drone slipped silently into the night, its cargo secure.

The wait stretched longer than anticipated. Viola stood before the panoramic windows of her penthouse, gazing down at the city's constellation of lights. She knew Lucas would respond—though in what form, she couldn't predict.

Her secure comm finally chimed—Lucas's private encrypted channel. As she accepted, his hologram materialized before her. He appeared unnervingly composed, his blond hair immaculate, blue eyes bottomless, but Viola detected the dangerous undertow beneath his placid exterior.

"Viola." His voice was chillingly controlled. "I received your… gift."

Viola remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm disappointed," he said, fingers drumming lightly against his desk. "Not because you terminated the pregnancy. But because you chose such a… blunt instrument."

His hologram leaned forward, gaze knife-edged. "Did you honestly believe I was unaware of your little operation? That clinic vulnerability—who exactly did you think you were fooling?"

Viola's stomach tightened, though her face betrayed nothing. "If you knew, why allow it to proceed?"

A frigid smile played at Lucas's mouth. "Because I'm curious how far you'll go. I want to see where the weapon I've so carefully crafted ultimately aims its barrel."

He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "But Viola, you've miscalculated. Selina should have remained untouched. She has considerable utility."

Viola finally broke her silence, her words glacial. "The way Michael was 'useful' to you? Until he distracted me too effectively and needed to suffer that convenient 'accident'?"

Lucas's holographic expression flickered momentarily before smoothing over. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

"Bullshit." Viola stepped toward his projection, locking eyes with his image. "You understand perfectly. The moment you decided to control every aspect of my existence, you should have anticipated this reckoning."

Lucas fell silent briefly, then smiled with sudden, terrible warmth. "Very well. Since you've chosen this path, walk it to its conclusion. Just remember—" his voice dropped to a lethal murmur, "my specialty is returning rebellious chess pieces to their proper squares."

The transmission cut abruptly. Viola stood alone in her vast penthouse, city lights reflecting in her steel-hard eyes. This had escalated beyond revenge—this was war, and only one would survive.

And she had forgotten how to fear long ago.