Alexander

Alexander's POV

I watched through the security feeds as Clara and Chen raced down the stairwell. Three years of careful planning, destroyed in a single morning by a woman I'd underestimated. The thought burned like acid in my veins.

"Sir," Johnson whispered, "the building's surrounded by federal agents."

"Then we'll use the tunnels." I straightened my tie, a habit even handcuffs couldn't break. "Has the package been delivered to my office?"

"Yes, sir. Timer set as requested."

"And the backup files?"

"Destroyed, as per protocol."

I smiled, remembering Clara's face at the altar. Such fire, such betrayal. She'd learned well from me—perhaps too well.

"Sir," another guard approached. "Miss Stevens is asking for instructions."

"Tell her to stick to the plan." I checked my watch. "And remind her what happens to loose ends."

"You're really going to kill her?" Johnson asked. "Clara, I mean."

I turned to him slowly. "Having doubts, old friend?"

"It's just... she was good to us, sir. To all of us."

"Sentiment." I spat the word like poison. "That's exactly why she has to die. She makes people weak."

The maintenance elevator opened silently onto my floor. Through the glass walls, I could see the aftermath of their hasty exit—papers scattered, drawers open.

"You know what to do," I told my men, checking my watch again. Five minutes until the package detonated. "No witnesses."

"What about Chen?"

"He dies first." I loaded my gun with practiced ease. "Clara watches."

"Sir," Johnson's voice wavered. "There's something else you should know. The quantum readings from last week—"

"Not now." I moved toward the stairwell. "We have a bride to catch."

"But sir, the readings suggest—"

"I said not now!" My voice echoed in the empty corridor. "Focus on the mission."

But his words nagged at me. The quantum readings. The way Clara had changed overnight. The impossible knowledge she seemed to possess.

"Sir!" A guard's voice crackled through my earpiece. "We've spotted them in the parking garage, level B2."

"Lock down all exits," I ordered. "No one leaves this building."

I took the stairs two at a time, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Clara thought she could destroy me? I'd show her what real destruction looked like.

My phone buzzed—a message from an unknown number: Check the quantum logs, Alexander. You're not the only one who remembers.

I froze. That was impossible. The technology was experimental, unstable. Unless...

"Johnson," I barked into my comm. "Get me those quantum readings. Now."

"Sir, they're showing multiple temporal signatures. At least three distinct—"

An explosion rocked the building, cutting him off. But it came from the wrong direction—not my office, but the parking garage.

Clara. She'd known about the bomb. Somehow, she'd known everything.

"Sir?" Johnson's voice was barely audible through the ringing in my ears. "What are your orders?"

I laughed, the sound echoing madly in the stairwell. My perfect plan, my careful manipulation—all undone by the very woman I'd chosen for her predictability.

"Sir? The federal agents are breaching the perimeter."

"Let them come." I straightened my jacket, feeling truly alive for the first time in years. "The game's not over yet."

After all, Clara had forgotten one crucial detail about fairy tales.

Sometimes, the monster wins.

And I'd always been so good at playing the monster.