Lucien was already waiting in the Langston executive conference room when Nathaniel arrived.
The room was stark—white marble table, black leather chairs, a muted skyline beyond frosted glass. The kind of room where empires were reshaped without ever raising voices.
Nathaniel Langston didn't sit.
He closed the door with a quiet click and stood across the table, his expression unreadable.
"I gave you one job," he said flatly.
"She's safe," Lucien replied.
"She screamed loud enough to trigger a three-floor alert, and my security team found her alone."
Lucien didn't blink. "I followed a credible lead. It was time-sensitive."
"You left her unguarded."
"I left her protected. Doors sealed, perimeter active, remote surveillance on every angle."
"I didn't hire surveillance." Nathaniel stepped forward, jaw tight. "I hired you. You, not some motion sensor, not a tripwire system. You."
Lucien stood straighter, face unreadable, voice level.
"And you hired me because I assess threats. That includes calculating the moment to act, not just react."
Nathaniel exhaled slowly, a measured breath. His control, like everything he built, was pristine.
"I want her removed from the investigation. No files. No intel. She's barely holding together as it is."
Lucien didn't respond right away. He thought of Delilah—sitting cross-legged in the sunroom, surrounded by open case files, laptop in her lap, annotating with frightening precision. More accurate than half the analysts he'd worked with.
He thought of the softness in her voice when she asked to help. Not out of thrill. Out of need.
Because fear didn't disappear when you ignored it.
It just waited.
"I understand," Lucien said finally.
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.
"You'll scale up the protection protocol, then. Tighten digital access. Shield her from developments. Triple the security rotations."
Lucien's silence stretched half a second too long.
And in that silence, he thought:
She's not glass.
But if I cage her, I'll break her anyway.
Later That Morning – The Penthouse
Delilah sat at the breakfast bar, pale morning light filtering through linen curtains. Her laptop was open, files laid out, tea half-drunk beside her.
Lucien watched her from across the room for a long moment.
She looked... calm.
Focused.
Competent in the way that made him forget, for a breath, how much she hated being watched—how much she hated the world watching her.
"Cross-referencing?" he asked softly as he approached.
"Behavioral profiles," she said without looking up. "Three of the victims from the Boston file described their stalker as 'charming' or 'unremarkable.' A face that could disappear in a crowd. I started building a composite—personality patterns, not physical ones. That's where this guy hides. Not in the face. In the habit."
Lucien blinked.
Goddamn, she was sharp.
It wasn't just academic brilliance—it was intuition. The kind of thing that couldn't be trained. The kind of thinking that made him wonder why she hadn't already been recruited by someone like Langley.
But then, she had been hiding for years.
And now?
Now she was stepping out—one foot at a time—and he was about to ask her to step back in.
"Delilah," he said carefully, crouching beside her. "We need to adjust a few things."
She looked up.
Suspicion flickered fast behind her eyes. "What kind of things?"
Lucien hesitated.
"I want to reroute your access protocols. You'll still have basic files. But I need to restrict certain threat assessments."
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard.
"Because of my father."
"Yes."
Her voice lowered. "He doesn't think I can handle it."
Lucien didn't answer.
She leaned back in her chair, the hurt clear in her eyes—quiet, but sharp.
"I'm not asking to chase him down. I just want to stop feeling like this thing—like the shadow of a problem no one wants to look directly at."
Lucien stood slowly.
"I know."
And he meant it.
He wanted her in this—wanted her beside him, not because she needed protection, but because she was damn good at seeing things he didn't.
But he also knew: if he kept pushing against Nathaniel's orders, his access would be revoked. Delilah would be surrounded by a battalion of cold, faceless men with guns and protocols, and he'd be gone.
And then she'd be alone all over again.
So he made the worst choice.
He nodded.
"I'll keep you in the loop. Just... not all of it. Not for now."
Her face closed. Not in anger—just... something colder. A quiet shutter dropping behind her eyes.
She said nothing. Just turned back to her screen and clicked the next file open.
And Lucien felt it—like a thread stretching between them that used to be warm—
Now taut. Fragile.
One more misstep, and it would snap.
That Night – Lucien's Quarters, Surveillance Review
The stalker was adapting. Disguises. Low-light movement. New angles. Smarter.
And Delilah?
She was doing the same.
She'd bypassed two encryption layers and accessed a report he hadn't given her.
He should've been angry.
Instead, he felt something almost worse: pride.
Because she wasn't trying to disobey him.
She was trying to reclaim her life.
And he wasn't sure how long he could keep her in the dark without losing the very thing he was trying to protect:
Her trust.
Her strength.
Her light.
Lucien closed his laptop, leaned back in the chair, and muttered into the empty room:
"God help me, I don't know who I'm protecting her from anymore. Him..."
A pause.
"...or me."
YOU ARE READING
The Algorithm of Us
Romance**She never meant to be seen. He never meant to stay. But something between them refuses to let go.** Delilah Langston has spent her life hidden behind glass walls-brilliant, sheltered, and quietly drowning under the weight of expectation. Shy by na...
