The morning didn't rise gently.
It stormed in—gold light streaking through the glass walls of the penthouse like a divine spotlight. The Empire was already awake.
Mia Valero had been up since 5 a.m., blasting trap beats in the private gym. Sweat glistened off her brow as she held a perfect plank, barking out "Form check!" like a general. When she moved, others followed.
Regg Winchester was at the free weights, squatting like she was trying to bury the floor six feet under. "Ten more," she growled. No one asked ten more what. You just do it.
Madi Beaumont ran like she was chasing down firewalls on her treadmill, multitasking on her smartwatch. Her brain never clocked out.
Juliette Devereux was stretched out on a yoga mat, spine straight, face unreadable, eyes sharp. "Grace is a weapon too," she once said. No one laughed.
Ann Andrew trained alone. Fast punches, perfect jabs, clean kicks. Quiet rage. Not everything has to be loud to be lethal.
Ether Lawson refused the gym, obviously. Instead, she was outside on the terrace, upside down in a headstand, meditating. "I'm aligning my spirit before I punch someone."
Vee Serafin jogged shirtless across the indoor track, hair in a high bun, a smirk plastered on her face. She was singing off-key just to annoy Ether.
Iffy Johnson had hijacked the kitchen—loudly. "Protein pancakes or starve, your choice!" Her spatula clanged like a sword.
Oma Caldwell wandered in with Debby Sinclair, still half-asleep, sliding into the kitchen. "We come in peace. And hunger."
Pesha Wilson and Tessie Dresden took over setting the massive obsidian dining table, lining up cutlery like soldiers in formation.
Laughter spilled, insults flew, sass bounced off the high ceilings. But beneath it? Power. This wasn't a house.
It was a headquarters. A lion's den.
---
The dining hall looked like a damn Vogue cover shoot—except louder.
Twelve girls. Silk robes. Bare faces glowing. Pancakes vanishing like magic. And chaos? Served on the side.
Iffy was still bragging. "Y'all owe me your life for this breakfast. Even Gordon Ramsay would shed a tear."
Debby snorted into her tea. "Please. These pancakes thin as Regg's patience."
Regg didn't even look up. "Say that again and I'll thin your eyebrows next."
Ether leaned over her smoothie bowl like it was a sacred ritual. "Do y'all have to be this loud this early? My chakra's twitching."
Vee, sipping espresso with one pinky up, flashed a smile. "Maybe if you charged your aura at the gym instead of upside down on the balcony—"
"—I'd still be too pretty to argue with you," Ether snapped back.
Tessie and Pesha exchanged looks across the table. Tessie whispered, "Ten bucks they throw toast at each other before lunch."
Mia, ever the calm in the storm, clinked her fork against her glass. "Alright, children. If we're being watched, let's not just give 'em breakfast. Let's give 'em drama."
Madi perked up. "You wanna bait the watchers?"
"Damn right," Mia said, eyes sharp. "Let's play a game."
"Lie or Die."
Regg leaned back, intrigued. "Explain."
"It's truth or dare, except there's only truth, and if you lie—" Mia grinned, "—you take the penalty."
"What's the penalty?" Juliette asked, already raising a brow.
Mia sipped her coffee like it was liquor. "Let the squad decide."
Round One.
Tessie: "Regg, that friend of yours—Blake. Ever smashed?"
Regg: "No." Silence. Stillness.
Vee: "Lie detector vibes. We vote: lie."
Regg laughed, middle finger up. "Fine. Penalty?"
Iffy: "Text him 'I dreamt of you shirtless.'"
Regg: "You're all going to hell."
Send.
Round Two.
Ether: "Vee, why you always stalking Kaine London's posts?"
The room froze. Even the light flickered.
Vee blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh don't 'excuse me' me. His likes, his reels. Sis, you're down bad."
Vee: "You think I'm thirsty for a man who owns a whole mafia empire?"
"Owns?" Juliette teased. "Girl, Kaine is the empire."
Laughter erupted. Even Mia cracked a grin.
But just beneath it all—stillness. The watchers were probably recording every micro-expression.
Pesha stood, camera in hand. "Smile, bitches. If they want a show, we're giving Oscars."
Snap.
Juliette twirled a grape off her fork. "I swear, if one of those freaks watching us tries anything…"
Madi said it first. Voice low. Icy.
"We can't just sit around and let these weirdos watch us like we signed for this."
That's when the mood shifted. Light-hearted banter giving way to quiet rage.
Oma looked around. "So… what's the plan?"
Mia didn't hesitate.
"We eat. We laugh. We play. But later today—we end this surveillance circus."
---
The laughter from "Lie or Die" hadn't even fully died when the penthouse intercom chimed with a soft but distinct beep.
Mia stood up fast, already knowing.
"It's her."
They scrambled. No panic, just silent readiness. In under ten seconds, the mood shifted from play to protocol.
In the war room—walls matte black, a neon-blue LED strip humming along the ceiling—they huddled around the central screen.
A holographic console blinked to life.
Incoming call: RAFAELLA MORETTI.
The screen glitched once. Then she appeared.
Rafaella didn't look like someone's mother—she looked like someone's final warning. Red lips. Diamond-cut jawline. Her voice? Pure silk and steel.
"Darlings. I've got something for you."
No hello. No small talk.
Mia straightened, voice respectful but firm. "We're listening."
Rafaella leaned forward. "There's a name echoing through every silent corridor I've poked. Kaine London. He's not just a person—he's a damn myth. And someone with that much power? Doesn't leave his toys lying around."
A stillness swept the room. Even Ether and Vee stopped breathing.
Regg muttered, "Figures. The watchers have taste."
Juliette: "You think he's behind the surveillance?"
Rafaella's eyes narrowed. "I know it."
Debby: "Why us?"
Rafaella: "That's what you're going to find out."
Madi pulled up the LC schematics on the console. "We'll need full access. Their system's a fortress."
Rafaella: "That's why you're not going in alone. You're splitting. Each squad has a job."
She flicked a file through. It slid across the screen and decrypted midair.
SQUAD ASSIGNMENTS:
Squad 1 – Deep Fake Trap:
Madi, Juliette and Tessie
—Goal: breach the LC firewalls and locate surveillance origin.
Squad 2 – Corporate Face Card:
Regg, Vee and Ether
—Goal: pose as potential investors, get eyes and ears inside.
Squad 3 – Ghost Entry:
Iffy, Oma, Ann, Debby, Pesha
—Goal: shadow movements, recover USB clones, prepare escape routes.
Vee side-eyed Ether. "Yay. I'm stuck with Miss Aura."
Ether fake-smiled. "Try not to trip over your ego, darling."
Iffy: "Y'all gonna throw hands or focus?"
Mia: "Enough. We move tomorrow."
Rafaella's image pixelated for a moment—then she said her last words:
"Whatever you do—don't underestimate Kaine London. He doesn't make threats. He makes examples."
The call dropped. Silence lingered like a warning.
Then Tessie scoffed and leaned back with a dramatic sigh.
"Okay but… that was a geek of a warning. Like, she said 'Kaine London' like it's Voldemort or something."
Ann raised a brow. "Sis, Voldemort wishes he was that fine."
Ether, arms folded, smirked. "Y'all keep thirsting after this man, meanwhile we're the ones being watched like it's Big Brother Mafia Edition."
Juliette glanced at Mia. "So, boss girl—what's next?"
Mia's eyes sharpen like drawn blades.
"We destroy those cameras first. Ain't giving these pervs another episode of Keeping Up with the Killers."
The squad fanned out. Not like amateurs—but like wolves bred for war.
Pesha climbed onto the marble counter in heels like a cat, unscrewed the chandelier casing, and found a thin lens tucked near the chain.
She plucked it out and winked. "One down. Eat dust, creeps."
Iffy and Tessie joke about putting on a cooking show while dismantling one hidden in the oven hood.
Madi activated her signal disruptor, disguised as a neon ring on her index finger. A wave of static hit the walls.
Juliette slid a makeup mirror over, angling it toward a frame's edge. Bingo—another red dot blinking.
Debby leaned in. "Buh-bye, perv cam."
Regg unscrewed a panel on the smart TV. "Someone planted a full relay in here. They weren't just watching—they were listening.
As the cleanup wrapped, Ether found a lens embedded in the houseplant's base. She held it up like a trophy.
"Look who's useful now, Vee."
Vee gave her a sideways look, unimpressed. "Congrats on your one win, sweetheart. Let me know when you stop hiding behind glitter and sarcasm."
Ether didn't flinch. "Let me know when your personality updates past the 2010s."
Mia clapped once—loud.
"Break it up. We're heading to the war table in five. Save the claws for later, kittens."
---
Back at the War Table — The Breach Plan
The war table glows to life—maps, profiles, heat sensors of the LC headquarters bloom into holograms.
Mia pulls the focus.
"Here's how we hit them. Three-prong attack. In and out. Minimum risk. No trace."
1. Deep Fake Trap – Squad: Madi, Tessie and Juliette
Tessie and Juliette will breach the LC firewalls by simulating a virtual scandal involving a fake LC investor. Once the system catches it, Madi will get admin-level diagnostics leaked to locate surveillance origin.
Why it works: It's from outside the building. No one walks in. They exploit LC's own paranoia.
2. Corporate Face Card – Squad: Regg, Vee and Ether
Regg pulls strings using her family's prestige. She'll pose as a potential investor and land a fake business pitch at LC HQ. During the pitch, Ether hacks their local server while Vee runs distraction.
Why it works: LC lets them in willingly. Underestimated = Overlooked.
3. Ghost Entry – Squad: Iffy, Ann, Oma, Debby and Pesha
Iffy taps into LC's janitorial roster and clones a shift ID. Pesha pose as maintenance, Ann recovers USB clones and Oma edits the logs in real-time while Debby prepares escape route.
Why it works: Low-level clearance often gets the least surveillance… until it's too late.
Mia leaned in over the projections.
"All three routes go down tomorrow."
She glanced around. "No heroes. No mess-ups. One mission."
A beat of quiet. Then Vee rolled her eyes.
"Just saying… if I get caught, I'm blaming Ether's energy."
Ether grinned. "Blame your lack of finesse, Barbie."
The team chuckled, then grew silent.
---
Unseen, the final hidden camera blinked slowly from behind the ventilation duct—recording every plan. Every face. Every secret.
But the girls?
They had no idea.
---
The night had crept in slow, coating the sky in a velvet hush. Above the city's breathless lights, twelve girls stood on the penthouse rooftop—where no cameras watched, no walls listened. Just them and the wind.
They were dressed down now, but the aura? Unshakable. Hair braided or wrapped. Robes, sportswear, joggers, silk tanks. Makeup wiped off. Faces clean. Real. Raw. Ready.
The table behind them was littered with half-drunk mocktails, files, laptops, and a 3D-printed replica of the LC Tower.
"God, I feel like we've been prepping for a military coup," Pesha exhaled, stretching her arms overhead.
"We kinda are," Mia smirked, arms crossed, scanning the city. "Except prettier, smarter, and loaded with petty trauma."
They'd spent the entire day prepping like they had a world to burn.
Mentally? Journals, visualizations, mental maps. Vee and Ether even did silent focus drills.
Physically? Core workouts, stretches, reaction speed tests. No sloppiness.
Tech-wise? Madi rewrote malware. Juliette loaded the simulators.
Fashion-wise? Regg and Oma curated stealth-friendly outfits that still gave boss energy.
Weapon-wise? Debby rechecked stun sticks, flash rings, pocket weapons—twice.
Emotionally? Well... they weren't perfect. But they were together. And that was enough.
"So…" Juliette leaned over the rail, her voice low, but playful. "What if we actually pull this off?"
"Not if. When." Ann corrected, no smile. She never joked about missions.
"And if things go south?" Vee tossed a grape in her mouth.
"Then we adapt. Ghost out. Clean. No one gets burned," Mia answered like she'd rehearsed this line in her sleep.
Oma flicked her eyes toward the skyline. "We're risking a lot, you know."
"So did every woman before us who broke something to build something," Regg said, chin high. "We just happen to do it with better tech and hotter fits."
They all laughed at that. Nervous. Brave. Close.
---
They stood there a while longer, no orders, no commands. Just breathing in the night before battle. Each one holding the weight in her own way. A sisterhood forged not by blood, but by intent.
Tomorrow, they wouldn't be daughters of diplomats, heiresses, hackers, or troublemakers.
Tomorrow, they'd be something else.
---
Location: The Crucible. Lower wing of Obsidian Keep. A hyper-secure sanctum carved beneath Kaine London's personal estate.
Dim neon glowed from embedded LEDs. Midnight black surfaces, tactical displays alive with holograms. No windows. No distractions. Just war—bottled, refined, and waiting to be unleashed.
Lior Vexley leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, sipping black coffee like it owed him rent.
"The girls are moving. All three squads prepped. Nice touch with the tripartite distraction."
Corin Draed cracked his knuckles as he watched the real-time digital mirror of the girls' penthouse through an encrypted feed. His voice was lazy, but edged.
"Let 'em run it. Regg's fake investor pitch is tight. That's a clean entry. Iffy's janitor route though? Ballsy."
Ezran Malyk, all bone rings and dead-serious eyes, nodded. A data pad flickered in his hands—he was tracing access logs and comparing facial scans like chessboard movements.
"It's Mia's warboard timing that makes it work. If this was ours, we'd pull the same setup."
Ashur Kael—the quietest of the five, perched by the weapons console—finally spoke, voice like gravel and smoke.
"They don't need help. Just a clean runway."
Thorne Aves, Kaine's second-in-command, stood at the center table. Arms folded. Silent. Then:
"Let it play out."
That was it. No argument. No overprotective shadowing. Orders had been laid out by Kaine himself—"Do not interfere. Let them earn their fire."
The Crucible boys didn't babysit—they assessed, calculated, moved only when the storm called for steel.
Lior broke the silence again, a smirk curling like smoke.
"They want blood from the London Conglomerate? Good. Let them take the first bite."
The hologram of the LC building flickered, and the feed shifted—showing the girls on the penthouse rooftop, chatting beneath the stars.
Corin watched a moment longer before switching off the display.
War starts tomorrow. Let's make sure the doors don't close behind them."
Ashur walked out first. Thorne didn't move. Ezran logged everything into their private surveillance server. Lior poured another cup of coffee. The Crucible didn't sleep—they prepared.