Not Just An Incubator: The Ex-Wife's Cold Revenge

Brooke Myers POV

Easton Jensen didn't sit behind a desk. He stood in the center of the command room, a dark silhouette against a wall of glowing monitors.

He was taller than Caleb. Broader, too. He wore a black suit that cost more than my car, and he wore it with the casual indifference of a man who didn't just pay the tailor-he owned him.

He turned when I entered.

His eyes were dark, intelligent, and completely devoid of pity.

"You look like hell, Brooke," he said.

"Thank you," I replied.

I didn't sit down. I couldn't. If I lowered myself now, gravity might claim me for good.

"The Roy Family is holding a press conference on Friday," Easton said, his voice a low rumble. "They're announcing the Apex partnership."

"They're announcing a fraud."

I met his gaze, refusing to blink.

"The version of Apex they have is buggy. It's a hollow shell. It has a backdoor I installed for maintenance. If they run live transactions through it without the patch, the Feds will be able to trace every dollar within a week."

Easton raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. "And you have the patch?"

"I am the patch."

"Why didn't you tell Caleb?"

"I was going to," I said, the bitterness coating my tongue. "Before he replaced me with a stripper."

Easton walked over to a sidebar, the ice clinking softly as he poured a glass of water. He walked back and handed it to me.

"Sit down," he ordered.

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command issued by a general.

I sat on the edge of a leather sofa. The water was cold, a shock to my system that felt dangerously good against my parched throat.

"I'm not asking for charity, Easton," I said, setting the glass down.

"I want a contract. Consigliere of Technology. Five percent of all laundered assets routed through my system."

Easton leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. The fabric of his suit strained slightly against the muscle beneath.

"That's a steep price for a defector."

"I'm not a defector," I countered. "I'm a free agent. And I come with the keys to the Roy kingdom."

"Caleb will come for you," Easton warned. "He's weak, but he's proud. He won't let you walk away with his secrets."

"Let him come."

Easton studied me for a long moment. It felt like he was dismantling me, taking me apart layer by layer to inspect the structural integrity.

His gaze dropped to my midsection, then back to my eyes.

"You're pregnant," he said.

It wasn't a question.

My hand twitched, an instinct to protect, but I forced it to remain still.

"Yes."

"Does Caleb know?"

"He knows," I said, my voice turning brittle. "He called it a liability."

Easton's jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek, a singular tick of violence.

"A man who discards his own blood is not a man," Easton said quietly. "He is meat."

He walked to his desk and pressed a button on the intercom.

"Bring the contract."

He looked back at me, his expression unreadable.

"You're hired," he said. "But understand this, Brooke. Once you sign with Nexus, you belong to me. My enemies are your enemies. My war is your war."

"I don't have a war anymore," I said. "I just have a target."

"Good."

The doors opened, and a lawyer walked in, extending a tablet.

I signed the digital document without reading the fine print. I didn't care about the non-competes or the NDAs. I only cared about the weapon it placed in my hand.

"You have twenty-four hours to migrate the system," Easton said.

"I can do it in twelve."

"Go home," Easton said. "Pack your things. My men will pick you up in two hours to move you to a safe house."

"I need to go to the Penthouse first," I said, standing up. "My servers are there. The physical backups. I can't migrate the core without the hard drives."

"It's dangerous."

"I have the codes," I insisted. "Caleb won't be there. He's at the compound celebrating with Krystal."

Easton hesitated. I could see the calculation running behind his eyes, weighing the asset against the risk.

"Take two of my men," he said.

"No. If I show up with Nexus soldiers, it triggers a street war tonight. I need to go in quietly."

Easton didn't like it. The tension in the room spiked.

"One hour," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "If you're not out in one hour, I'm coming in. And I won't be knocking."