CHAPTER 1: Breach Attempt
The meeting room lights dimmed one by one behind Spencer Lim as he stepped out, loosening the collar of his polo like the entire marketing presentation had been strangling him. Lim Aviation board meetings always felt like a polite cage fight masked with spreadsheets. Everyone in that room spoke in percentages, risk projections, market strategies — except him. Spencer’s mind thrummed in algorithms, encrypted nodes, and product maps for his pet project. Marketing was a different religion entirely.
He had barely reached the lobby when his phone vibrated twice. Ping. Ping.
A specific pattern, like a knock only he and one other person knew.
Kai: Bro, need you. Urgent. Go somewhere clean. Layered encryption needed. Don’t access it from anywhere.
Spencer’s eyebrows lifted. “Clean” meant secure. “Layered” meant serious. “Don’t access from anywhere” meant oh, crap.
Sebastian had full system control within the family grounds: cameras, cell tower boosters, even a quiet little AI tool he never admitted existed. If Spencer logged into anything suspicious inside that compound, Sebastian would sniff it out faster than a bloodhound.
So: secret office it was.
He was already heading toward the parking area when he spotted Sabrina and Sofia walking out of the elevator with matching expressions of sisterly judgment.
Sabrina cupped a hand around her mouth. “Spence! You riding with us? We’re heading back to the compound.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, sis. I have to help a friend. Something quick.”
Sofia crossed her arms, one hip raised — classic Sofia stance for bullshit detected. “Quick for you means three hours minimum.”
“Hey, that’s rude,” Spencer said, clicking his key fob. His old ’97 Land Cruiser Prado beeped like a loyal mutt. “It’s important. And it’s private.”
Before either sister could argue, a deeper voice cut through the space like a scalpel.
“Why are you driving?” Sebastian asked.
The eldest Lim son looked like he walked out of a magazine cover that didn’t allow smiling. Brows slightly lowered, eyes sharp enough to slice Spencer’s favorite hoodie into ribbons. He took in the Land Cruiser with visible pain.
“That car,” Sebastian said, “has the structural reliability of a tin can.”
“It’s vintage,” Spencer countered. “It has soul.”
“It has no armor,” Sabrina chimed in. “And no tracking modules. And no emergency override. Not even bulletproof glass.”
Spencer made an offended sound. “It’s fine! I don’t need all that. I keep a low profile. The media doesn’t even know my face.”
“Because you delete your photos like an obsessed gremlin,” Sofia said.
“Yes,” Spencer said proudly. “Exactly. That’s the point.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Regardless, you need a security detail with you. Always.”
“I literally blend in with civilians,” Spencer argued, opening the driver’s door. “This car helps. Nobody thinks I’m important enough to kidnap if I’m driving a dinosaur.”
“Your dinosaur is worth millions on the collector market at this point,” Sabrina muttered.
Spencer hesitated at the door, irritation and mischief sparking in equal parts. “I don’t want security. They slow me down. They monitor everything. The last one tried to follow me into a restroom. A restroom.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he thought you were going to escape through the plumbing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Spencer paused. “Although… I could.”
“This is exactly why you need security,” Sebastian said.
The conversation halted as Matteo walked in and Sofia’s hand immediately rested on his arm, radiating that calm, authority that made even Sebastian shut up half a second faster.
Matteo eyed Spencer’s car. “That thing again? He needs an escort.”
Spencer groaned into the sky. “I get it, okay? Everybody hates my car. But I’m driving. I’ll bring security. They can follow me.”
Sebastian’s stare could have frozen magma. “No. One of mine drives.”
“Absolutely not,” Spencer said. “Nobody drives my Prado. I rebuilt half the engine myself.”
Sabrina tossed her hair. “Spence, baby, you can’t give us the same crap every time. We know you’ll ditch your tail. You’ve done it since you were nineteen. You’re not even subtle.”
“I am subtle,” Spencer said. “You just learned.”
“No,” Sofia corrected. “You became predictable.”
He looked between them, exasperated. “You’re all bullying me.”
“We’re saving you,” Sebastian said. “Get in the back.”
Spencer exhaled through his teeth. He didn’t have the time — Kai needed him online within the hour. This bickering was cutting into his escape window.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Security drives. I sit in the back. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Sabrina said.
Sebastian gestured to one of his men — tall, stone-faced, the kind who probably slept with one eye open. The guard nodded, took the keys from Spencer, and slid into the driver’s seat.
Spencer climbed into the back, arms folded, looking like a sulking tech prodigy being forced to attend a family reunion.
The engine started.
Sebastian leaned in toward the guard. “Do not lose him this time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m right here, you know.”
“We are aware,” Sebastian said. “That’s why we’re giving very clear instructions.”
Spencer just rolled his eyes at his brother and waved goodbye to his sisters, who both gave him identical behave-or-Sebastian-will-kill-you looks. He pressed a hand to the window and mouthed dramatically, Free me, which only made Sabrina flip him off in a loving, sisterly manner.
Once they were out of the airport compound, Dan — stoic, disciplined, Sebastian-trained Dan — cleared his throat from the driver’s seat.
“Sir… where are we going?”
Spencer’s brain fired off alarms. If he gave the real address, Dan would report it before they even reached the first stoplight. Sebastian would be notified. Sofia would be notified. Sabrina would be notified. The entire Lim family group chat would suddenly light up like a Christmas tree. So he did what he always did best.
He lied.
“To Hank’s place,” Spencer said, cool and casual. “Friend needs some help.”
Dan nodded, relieved to have an answer. “Understood, sir.”
Spencer shot Hank a quick encrypted message:
SPENCER: Need a cover.
HANK: Security again?
SPENCER: They’re multiplying.
HANK: Wishing you good luck then.
SPENCER: I hate you.
HANK: No you don’t.
Twenty minutes later, Dan pulled the Prado into the parking lot of one of Hank’s “legitimate” office spaces. Hank stood outside like a man who had absolutely nothing to hide which, ironically, made him look guilty. He greeted Dan with a polite nod and Spencer with the subtle raising of an eyebrow that asked, How screwed are we today?
As predicted, Dan stepped out and held out a hand.
“Sir, please stay inside while I sweep the perimeter.”
Spencer slumped back in the seat. “This again?”
Dan gave him the same monotone answer all Sebastian-trained guards had memorized. “Standard procedure.”
It actually was. Lim security protocols were psychotically thorough for two reasons:
Sebastian’s paranoia had been honed into a professional art form.
Over the years, several siblings and in-laws had accumulated more kidnapping attempts than Spencer had birthdays.
So sweeps were mandatory. Buildings, vehicles, bathrooms, rooftops, even trash bins.
Spencer and Hank exchanged a look through the window.
“On a scale of one to ten,” Hank mouthed silently, “how annoying?”
Spencer mouthed back, “Fourteen.”
Dan checked corners, door frames, ceiling cameras, even the underside of a potted plant that hadn’t been watered since the pandemic. The moment he ducked inside the office to complete the sweep, Spencer’s body moved like a man possessed.
He climbed into the driver’s seat.
Hank slid into the passenger side in one smooth motion.
The doors shut quietly.
A brief second of silence passed.
Then Spencer muttered, “Buckle up.”
The Prado rolled out like a getaway car in a heist movie — silent, purposeful, unbothered.
They were three meters from the building when they saw Dan sprint out the front door in horror, waving his arms. Spencer watched him get smaller and smaller in the mirror.
Hank clicked his tongue. “You’re insane.”
“Thank you,” Spencer said.
“He’s gonna tell Sebastian.”
“He’s gonna cry first,” Spencer replied.
Hank snorted.
But two minutes later, Hank stiffened. “Don’t look. But someone’s following us.”
Spencer didn’t need to look to know Hank was right. The energy in the air shifted when you’re being tailed — the subtle pressure of a car that mirrored every turn with too-clean precision.
“Dan?” Spencer asked.
“No,” Hank whispered. “Unknown plate.”
Spencer pressed his foot on the accelerator. The Prado surged forward, engine growling its old-warrior growl. They ducked into a narrower road, then another, then cut through a street most people avoided because of the road humps designed by a sadist.
Hank ran a scan using a portable sweeper from his bag, waving it over every hidden compartment in the vehicle.
“No tags. Nothing planted,” he confirmed. “Tracker-free.”
“Then they’re tracking visually,” Spencer muttered. “Idiots.”
He took a sharp turn that only a man familiar with every pothole and shortcut in Cebu could manage. The tailing car overshot the curve. Spencer floored it, slipped through the merging road, and vanished behind an unloading van.
Hank checked the mirror. “We lost them.”
Spencer let out a low whistle. “And that, my friend, is why vintage cars win.”
“No, that is why you lose cell privileges every month.”
“Semantics.”
When they were absolutely sure they weren’t being followed or traced, Spencer headed toward the small dirt road outside Cebu City — a road that looked like it led to nowhere but actually led to one of the most exclusive high-end condominium complexes in the country.
Unless you knew what to look for, you’d think it was a maintenance path. But Spencer knew.
The security gate recognized the Prado and opened.
He drove straight into the basement parking.
No guards. No cameras. Just one elevator — unmarked, stainless steel, innocuous.
“Home sweet hideout,” Hank murmured.
They stepped inside the elevator. Hank pressed the panel. There was no button labeled 13. Not for regular residents. But Hank tapped a code, the lights flickered, and suddenly the number appeared like a ghost floor.
When the doors slid open, the 13th floor lit up to greet them.
The entire place stretched wide and open, concrete polished smooth, walls bare except for mounted servers humming quietly in temperature-controlled glass enclosures. It looked like the lair of someone preparing to either save the world or indict it.
At the far end stood two desks.
Dark. Minimalist. Each equipped with a triple-monitor setup and custom keyboards Spencer had printed himself.
No furniture. No clutter. Just pure potential energy.
The moment Spencer stepped out of the elevator, the lights brightened — motion sensors keyed to his biometric signature.
Hank headed to his station without a word. He booted up a communication app that wasn’t just encrypted — it was double-blind, self-erasing, and only accessible through custom authentication tokens that Spencer updated weekly.
Spencer dropped into his own chair, cracked his knuckles, and started booting his system.
The screens lit up in a storm of code.
“Alright,” he murmured, eyes sharpening. “Kai, what did you drag me into this time?”
And somewhere in the city, Sebastian Lim’s phone vibrated. Someone had reported Spencer missing from assigned supervision.
The hunt had begun.
Again.
Freja Vergara slipped into SPY headquarters the way she always did: quiet as a shadow, humming with a storm beneath her ribs. She had just flown back from babysitting a royal brat who believed “self-defense” meant owning a bodyguard who doubled as a designer handbag stand. The princess had refused every form of training, insisting her beauty alone could disarm danger.
Freja had bitten her tongue until she tasted metal.
No amount of money was worth watching someone sprint joyfully into danger with the survival instinct of a decorative plant. Sabrina agreed. Zahra agreed. Which was why Freja was back.
The Siquijor retreat house called to her. Two weeks. Ocean. Peace. No entitled royalty. Bliss.
But before disappearing into island silence, Freja wanted her reports pristine. So she marched to the records room, typed like a demon for two hours, and signed off with a satisfied exhale.
Done. Delivered. Goodbye, spoiled princess.
She stretched, spine cracking like bubble wrap, and made her way to Sabrina’s office. She expected her boss lounging in silk with hibiscus tea. Instead, tension clung to the entire hallway. Voices drifted through the door — raised, familiar, and impossible to ignore.
The Lim siblings. Plus in-laws. Practically a natural disaster category.
Curiosity nudged her closer. She leaned lightly toward the door.
Sabrina and Sebastian were arguing. Nothing new. Those two bickered with the passion of fencing champions. Freja pressed her back to the wall, listening. Not because she was nosy — because intel dressed itself in drama more often than people realized.
“…he keeps losing his security detail!” Sabrina’s voice held that specific exasperated strain she reserved for one person only.
Spencer.
Freja blinked.
She’d seen the youngest Lim maybe twice in six years — in briefings, half-asleep, hoodie up, smelling faintly of caffeine and code. Genius-level brain. Chaotic daylight gremlin energy. He looked like the kind of man who’d forget meals for three days but remember the hexadecimal order of a custom encryption he’d written half a decade ago.
Luis Mendoza’s voice floated through. “Let him be. The kid covers his tracks better than our own agents. He just hates being tailed.”
Reasonable. Freja hated tails too.
Kaos - Sabrina’s annoyingly supportive royalty of a husband - added, smooth and amused, “Exactly. Security hovering over your shoulder feels suffocating. I’d know.”
Samantha’s sharp voice followed. “You were kidnapped, if you have forgotten about that. You don’t get an opinion.”
Freja bit back a laugh. The Lim family dynamic was somewhere between a military committee and a telenovela.
Then Sebastian — whose paranoia Freja considered a professional form of art — said, “Something is off. I don’t know what. But Spencer is hiding something.”
Freja almost clapped. The man had no idea how right he was.
Luis grumbled, “We’d track him if we could. But none of us have ever cracked his codes.”
Freja’s eyebrow lifted. Ever? Challenge accepted.
She slid down to sit on the floor, back to the wall, pulled out her laptop, and let her fingers brush across the keys.
The familiar hum of circuits felt like coming home.
She opened terminal windows, connected to SPY’s private back-channel — the one only Sabrina’s inner circle touched — and murmured, “Let’s see what secrets the golden boy forgot to sweep.”
Her fingers flew. Codes layered on screens. She pierced through systems built by people who thought they were clever.
“Spencer Lim… what did you leave behind?”
A blip.
Then another.
Then—
“Oh, you sloppy little prodigy,” she whispered. “You forgot to scrape your metadata.”
A tiny breadcrumb. Two months old.
She followed it.
“Oh sweetheart, eight layers of encryption?” she murmured. “Adorable.”
She bypassed the first. The second folded easily. The third collapsed like paper under a precise strike.
The fourth made her smile. “Respect.”
The fifth? “Overcompensation.”
The sixth? “Now you’re flirting.”
The seventh bit at her with a ping to his defensive script. Cute. She dodged it.
The eighth cracked open with a sigh.
And there he was. His location blinking bright on her screen — an exclusive condo just outside Cebu City. Timestamp fresh.
She noticed the failsafe too: if anyone pinged his coordinates, he’d be alerted in under an hour.
“Great. Fifty-nine minutes until baby genius throws a digital tantrum.”
Freja stood, dusted off her black cargo pants, adjusted her SPY jacket, and knocked.
Three taps.
She pushed the door open before anyone answered. The entire family turned toward her like she’d burst into a ritual.
Sabrina lit up. “Freja! Sweetheart, can this wait? We’re dealing with a situation.”
“I know,” Freja said calmly. “I heard some of it.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed — half offense, half suspicion.
Freja raised her laptop. “Since you looked like you needed help, I tracked Spencer’s phone.”
Five faces froze.
Sebastian straightened. “You… tracked him?”
She nodded. “He’s in a high-rise outside the city.” She showed the screen. “You have about fifty-eight minutes before his system alerts him.”
Silence. Then a storm.
Samantha: “You WHAT?”
Luis: “No way—”
Kaos: “Impossible. Not one of my men ever cracked that.”
Sebastian: “How?”
Sabrina: “My girl!” practically glowing.
Freja shrugged. “He forgot to scrub metadata on your back-channel two months ago. I followed it. His encryption shell is creative — but predictable.”
Sebastian stared like she’d sprouted wings. “What’s your name again?”
Freja straightened. “Freja Vergara. Thirty-one. Born in Japan. Filipino father. Swedish mother. Started hacking at twelve. Weapons trained. Judo and aikido since I could walk. National junior champion. Knife proficiency: advanced. Katana proficiency: high. Babysat royal brats for SPY for six years now.”
The collective inhale was audible.
Sabrina preened. “She’s one of my best.”
Samantha whispered, “She’s terrifying.”
Luis whispered back, “I want her for my team.”
Kaos looked impressed. Sebastian looked like he’d discovered a cheat code.
He stepped closer. “Can you pick Spencer up?”
Freja blinked. “Pick him up? Like a package?”
Sabrina rushed to explain. “If we all go, he’ll know we tracked him. But he might like you. You’re subtle.”
“I’m not subtle,” Freja countered.
“You’re subtle compared to us,” Sabrina amended.
Freja sighed. “Fine. But I want an extra week off.”
Sebastian opened his mouth— Sabrina smacked a hand against his chest. “Done.”
Freja closed her laptop, slung her bag over a shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Let’s go before your brother realizes he’s being hunted.”
Sebastian threw instructions at Luis. “We need someone like Freja for Spencer permanently.”
Sabrina laughed. “Someone like Freja is Freja.”
Down the hall, Freja muttered under her breath, “And people wonder why I need a two-week break.”
But she couldn’t lie to herself.
Tracking Spencer had been fun.
