Chapter 1

On my wedding night, my “crippled” husband was sitting in his wheelchair. He was carefully sticking fake scars onto his face in front of the mirror. I pretended to be cooking in the kitchen while checking my phone.

The International Deep Web rankings had just been updated. My ID was ranked second, right under “The Faceless.” For three years, The Faceless was the only person I couldn't hack.

I glared at that name until I noticed something terrifying. His login port was using the exact same IP address as my home WiFi. I dropped my spatula and walked toward the study door.

My “useless” husband was supposed to be a vegetable living off his family’s wealth. Instead, his legs were kicked up on the desk while his fingers flew across the keyboard. The screen was glowing with the admin panel of The Faceless...

1

My name is Sienna Sullivan. To the outside world, I was the disgrace of the family. The Sullivans were a line of decorated military officers, and I was the only failure who never enlisted.

I was pale, thin, and always silent. At family gatherings, I was always relegated to the back row. When they forced me to marry the crippled third son of the Blackwell family, everyone laughed.

“It’s a perfect match,” my aunt sneered. “One piece of trash for another.”

The Blackwells were the elite of Chicago. Old Mr. Blackwell had three sons. The oldest was a politician, the second was a businessman, and then there was Sterling.

People said Sterling had been in a car crash that ruined his face and paralyzed his legs. He lived in the family mansion, hidden from the world. No one ever saw him.

Our wedding was held in the backyard of the Blackwell estate. There was no white dress and no guests because the family was ashamed. I wore a fifty-dollar dress I bought online.

I stood in front of his wheelchair. The officiant droned on for five minutes before telling us to exchange rings. I looked down at him.

He wore a black mask that covered most of his face. The jagged scars around his eyes looked painful and ugly. He looked bored, like he didn't care about the wedding at all.

I slid the ring onto his finger. His skin was freezing cold. “Sterling Blackwell,” I whispered his name.

He looked up, his eyes half-lidded. “Yeah,” he replied. Just one word.

Then his motorized wheelchair turned around. His nurse pushed him back into the house without another word.

On our wedding night, we were given a small cottage on the edge of the estate. I didn't mind the isolation. I needed a place where no one would watch me.

I had work to do. While I was boiling some ramen, my phone buzzed. It was an encrypted message from the Deep Web.

“J, there’s a massive cyber defense competition tomorrow. Thirty million dollar prize. You in?” My contact, Leo, asked.

I typed back with one hand. “I’m in.” Leo replied quickly. “The Faceless will be there. You sure you can handle it?”

I gripped my spatula until my knuckles turned white. The Faceless. He was the number one hacker in the world.

I’d been hunting him for three years. Every time I got close to his identity, he’d kick me out at the last second. Once, I almost broke into his database, but he left me a message.

“Nice try, Little J,” it said. My handle is J, and he called me Little J. Dammit.

As I vented my anger, I noticed a detail. The Faceless’s last login IP led back to a physical location. It was the same one as my phone’s WiFi.

I let the ramen boil over. I didn't care. I walked to the study and peeked through the cracked door.

He wasn't in his wheelchair. He had his feet on the desk, looking lazy and dangerous. His mask was off, revealing a face as smooth as silk.

He was incredibly handsome, with cold, sharp features. His eyes moved across the code with predatory focus. He didn't look like a waste of space.

He looked like a predator who had finally been let out of his cage. The screen showed an admin system. At the top, it read: “The Faceless Admin Panel V7.2.”

I leaned against the doorframe. My husband was The Faceless. Sterling’s fingers flew across the keyboard while he sucked on a lollipop.

Then, he froze. He noticed someone was tracing his IP. He frowned and pulled up his own tracking tools.

He dug through six layers of proxies. His expression changed when he saw the final location. It was his own WiFi.

He spun around instantly. But the doorway was empty.

I was already back in the kitchen, setting the table. My face was a blank mask. “Dinner’s ready,” I called out.

Sterling slowly rolled out of the study in his wheelchair. His mask was back on and his eyes were half-closed. He looked like a helpless invalid again.

“Thanks,” he said softly. He took the bowl and tasted the noodles. “Not bad.”

“It’s all I know how to make,” I lied. Two world-class hackers were eating together, both pretending to be losers. This was going to be interesting.