Chapter 1Remote Killing My Stolen Porsche

Lauren used to talk endlessly about boundaries.

"Don’t touch what isn’t yours."

"Don’t break the rules once they’re set."

For three years, I took those words as gospel. I respected every line she drew.

Until the morning I was supposed to close a thirty-million-dollar enterprise contract.

Until the moment I realized her male best friend was sitting behind the wheel of my car.

* * *

Eight o’clock sharp.

I stood on the oil-stained concrete of Parking Level B3, staring at an empty stall. The space was glaring, violently vacant.

The silver-gray Porsche Panamera wasn't just a vehicle. I had bought it in cash before our engagement, long before any talk of shared lives or joint accounts. The final six digits of the VIN were my birthday. The telematics were paired to my personal cell. It was the only tangible thing I had left of my father after he passed—bought with his life insurance and three brutal years of ninety-hour workweeks, my first true trophy of survival.

I walked the perimeter of the empty stall three times. Nothing.

My thumb hovered over my screen, dialing Lauren.

It rang twelve times before she picked up, her voice thick and gravelly with sleep.

"Sean? Why are you calling so early? What’s wrong?"

I kept my voice low, tightening the leash on my temper. "Where is my car?"

A two-second hesitation. Then, her tone smoothed out into something airily dismissive, as if she were telling me she’d borrowed a sweater.

"Oh. Kyle had an interview with some angel investors this morning. I let him take it for the day."

"You did what?"

"He said he needed to look the part. You know how those venture capitalists are—image is half the pitch. It gives him an edge."

A sudden chill bled through my fingers.

"That is my car, Lauren. Pre-marital property. Did it ever occur to you to ask me?"

She let out a dry, irritated laugh through the receiver. "Yours, mine... why do you always have to keep score like an accountant? It’s just a set of wheels, Sean. It’s Kyle. He isn't some stranger off the street."

Before the sound of her breath could fade, my screen buzzed.

A notification from our three-person group chat.

Kyle had dropped a photo. A selfie taken behind the leather-wrapped steering wheel, the instrument cluster glowing behind his knuckles.

Location tag: "Interstate 285, East Loop."

Caption: "Huge shoutout to my girl Lauren for the wheels! Closing this round today, no doubt!"

In the bottom right corner of the frame, his thumb was resting right against the limited-edition carbon-fiber decal I kept tucked in the console slot. It was an import piece I’d spent three months hunting down after my dad died. I hadn't even dared peel off the adhesive backing yet.

I stared at the glowing pixels. A sickening cold swept from the soles of my shoes straight to my chest.

All her grand talk about boundaries.

They were only ever built to keep me in line. When someone else wanted to tear them down, she held the door wide open.