Upload complete. Relay active. Signal strong.

From now until the end of time—or until someone physically tore this building down—everything that happened at Ashford Elite Academy would stream directly to his home.

Every secret.

Every betrayal.

Every plan.

His.

This wasn't survival anymore.

This was dominion.

The academy itself was a monument to excess—the kind of excess that came from people who'd never heard the word "no" and decided to build a school to prove it.

Every family in Paradise had contributed to its construction and maintenance over the decades—not out of charity, but out of ego. The science wing bore the Ashford name because Elena's ancestors had basically invented "old money" and wanted everyone to remember it and they owned this shit too.

The performing arts center was dedicated to the Montgomerys—Sierra's folks, who thought culture was something you bought by the theater.

The athletic complex existed because three different families had gotten into a dick-measuring contest about who loved sports more, and the only winner was the construction company that got to build three separate gyms.

And the technology building?

That was Maxton territory— the Maxton Great-great grand patriarch was first to get this; lest the Tanakas swoop in with a better offer and stole the naming rights like corporate vultures.

The current Maxton generation: Harold had personally funded the computer labs, the server rooms, the state-of-the-art equipment that made Ashford's tech program the envy of every private school on the East Coast.

The Maxton name was etched into a plaque by the main entrance, right next to a portrait of him shaking hands with some senator who'd probably been indicted since—for embezzlement, tax fraud, or just general douchebaggery.

The irony wasn't lost on Phei.

The Maxtons had paid for this building. Had their name on every wall.

And now the family charity case was using it to spy on everyone they knew.

Thanks for the investment, Uncle Harold. Your money's in good hands—mine.

The setup at his condo was already operational—three new computers, each one more powerful than anything he'd ever owned, running custom software that could process and categorize surveillance data in real-time.

No more weekly trips to the control room. No more manually downloading footage and praying he hadn't missed something important.

From now on, everything would stream directly to my home.

Every whispered secret. Every betrayal. Every plan that Paradise's elite thought was private.

All of it, piped straight into my pocket.

He just needed to finish the configuration here, install the new cameras tonight, and the network would be complete.

A web spanning the entire academy and beyond—because the signal booster's range meant he could monitor locations outside the school too. The parking lot where deals went down. The nearby coffee shop where students gathered after classes to pretend, they weren't plotting.

The park where the Legacy boys liked to smoke weed and talk shit—usually about him or girls and the Princesses.

Everywhere they go. Everything they say.

Mine.

By the time Phei finished, first period had started and ended. He'd missed it entirely—some bullshit elective he didn't care about—but the absence wouldn't matter. The academy's attendance system was another thing he'd compromised months ago.

As far as the official records were concerned, Phei Maxton had been present and accounted for in every class.

Ghost in the machine. Literally.

He leaned back, surveying his work one final time.

Done.

The monitors showed the same feeds as before—hallways, classrooms, common areas—but now they were ghosts. Echoes. The real data was already streaming elsewhere, flowing through encrypted channels across three continents before pooling in his condo's servers.

He'd never need to come back here.

The thought was strange. This room had been his sanctuary for nearly three years. His one secret advantage in a world designed to crush him. Every Tuesday, like clockwork, he'd sneak in and download his survival—his little weekly dose of "at least I know what's coming."

Now he was walking away forever.

Upgrades, bitch.

He pulled the last of his old equipment he'd collected yesterday night that had stopped operating—the original cameras, the first-generation bugs, the clunky receivers that had been state-of-the-art for a broke kid with no resources.

Phei stood, stretched, and took one last look at the control room.

Thanks for everything. But I don't need you anymore.

He wouldn't miss it.

Not when the new setup was basically Skynet with better lighting.

His phone buzzed.

Sierra: Where are you?

Sierra: I checked the music room. You weren't there.

Sierra: I NEED you.

Phei smiled at the screen. The desperation in those three messages—especially the last one, all caps, no pretense of dignity—was delicious.

A week of daily sessions and she was already addicted. Couldn't go a few hours without craving his touch. Her body rewired to respond only to him, just like the system had promised—and like he'd engineered with his own very dedicated hands.

He typed back slowly, deliberately, making her wait for each word.

Phei: Busy.

Sierra: With WHAT

Phei: Things.

Sierra: Phei I swear to god

Phei: Tonight. My place. 9pm.

Phei: Don't be late. You come or we end our little arrangement here...

He was done playing her Queen-Gigolo games.

Time for the Queen to learn who really wore the crown.

He watched the three dots appear and disappear several times as she typed and deleted and retyped her response. Finally:

Sierra: Fine.

Sierra: But you OWE me.

He didn't bother responding.

Desperation and lust, huh.

Let her stew. Let her spend the whole day thinking about him, distracted in class, unable to focus, counting the minutes until she could feel his hands on her again.

That was part of the training too.

Second period was starting. He could hear the distant sound of footsteps in the hallway, students shuffling to their next class.

Time to go.

Phei shut down his private partition, cleared his access logs, and made sure everything looked exactly as it had when he'd entered. The control room showed no sign of his presence—just another empty IT space that nobody cared about—because who cares about the nerd room when there are reputations to ruin in the cafeteria?

He slipped out the door, card disappearing back into his pocket.

The computer lab was no longer empty. A few students had drifted in, setting up at workstations, headphones on, lost in whatever digital distraction they preferred to actual human interaction.

None of them looked up as Phei passed.

None of them noticed him at all.

Funny how that works.

He'd spent years being invisible. Hating it. Wishing someone—anyone—would just see him.

Now he could turn it on and off like a switch. Commanding attention when he wanted it, disappearing when he didn't. The ultimate camouflage.

The best kind of predator.

He walked out of the lab and into the crowded hallway.

The gasps started again immediately.

"Oh my god, is that—"

"Where did he come from—"

"He looks even better than yesterday—"

Phei smiled to himself and kept walking.

The web was complete.

Right now, forty new cameras were already recording. Six signal boosters were already meshing. His AI was already learning patterns, flagging keywords, building profiles on every person who walked through Ashford's halls.

And at his condo, three monitors were filling with data. Every plan the Legacies cooked up. Every move Danton made. Every whispered threat and secret alliance and desperate scheme—captured, catalogued, and waiting for him to review.

They thought they could plot against him?

They thought they could win?

Poor stupid bastards.

They had no idea who they were dealing with anymore.

Now he just had to wait for the flies.

And when they came—

He'd eat well.

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