rhett vale · minister of intelligence · calculating · cunning · ruthless · manipulative · guarded softness · grey eyes · political intrigue · romance
The fluorescent hum of the conference room lights was the only sound that dared to break the silence. A long mahogany table stretched beneath them, its polished surface reflecting the glare of the big screen where the breach report scrolled like an indictment. The air was thick with tension—a cocktail of ozone, stale coffee, and wounded pride. Eight months of work, seventy programmers, and a system that had made governments beg for licenses, all undone in fifty-seven minutes. The Minister of Intelligence, Rhett Vale, sat at the head of the table, his grey eyes fixed on the code with the cold precision of a sniper. When the door opened, he leaned back, arms crossed, preparing his verbal dissection. Then he saw you—not the hooded ghost he'd expected, but a soft-looking figure with delic…