Page 106 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
I don’t speak.
Just press my forehead to his back, breathe in the heat and strength of him.
“You’re changing,” he murmurs.
“Am I?” My voice is too thin, too frayed.
He turns slowly, cradling my face in calloused hands. “Not breaking. Not hardening.Becoming.”
I close my eyes.
Because that? That might be the most terrifying thing anyone’s ever said to me.
CHAPTER 18
GRAU
It starts with the accountant.
Not the one at the top of the pyramid—no, that would be too quick, too clean. I need the dominos to fall slow. Loud. One by one. So I begin with Maren Tull, mid-tier compliance officer, fond of cash bribes and untraceable favors. She’s the kind of cog that keeps empires like Tidball’s humming in the background—until the teeth rot from the inside.
I don’t kill her.
I don’t have to.
I send her a file. Just one. Compiled from her own correspondence, her bank records, surveillance footage she didn’t know existed. The last page is a note in red:You were never invisible.
By the time the sun rises, she’s already lawyered up, emptied her personal accounts, and filed a quiet resignation from the shadow shell company Tidball buried her under. No goodbyes. No contact.
Just gone.
The ripple reaches him faster than I expect.
By the time I hit the second target—Vakez, the logistics broker with three passports and two faces—Tidball’s alreadypulling strings to plug leaks he doesn’t understand. He thinks it’s a coincidence. Bad luck. Maybe even sabotage from a competitor.
I don’t correct him.
Because confusion is power. Doubt is a weapon. And this war isn’t about how fast I move.
It’s about how long I let him feel the floor collapsing.
Every strike is deliberate. Precise.
A board member finds their name leaked in a corruption probe tied to a child labor contract in the outer colonies. One of Tidball’s PR firms is exposed in a whistleblower scandal involving deepfakes and falsified security footage. A known fixer—his fixer—vanishes mid-flight somewhere over the black skies between Solis and Vega.
No bodies.
No fingerprints.
Just silence.
And always the same message, delivered in a dozen ways:
You are not untouchable.
You are not unseen.
I’m coming.
