Exiled to the Top

The blinding spotlight locked onto another woman, completely bypassing me. My fiancé—the elite Special Forces commander—personally pinned the medal of honor onto her chest.

The exact medal that belonged to me. That was my lifeblood.

One hundred and eighty sleepless nights trapped in an underground server room, fueled by endless shots of espresso and tens of thousands of lines of core code. Ten full years.

I passed up three major promotions just to play the role of his perfect assistant. But the payoff wasn't a white gown.

That night, I dropped the expensive diamond ring onto the cold wooden nightstand, the metal clinking sharply against the surface.

I sent a single text calling off the engagement and blocked his number across every platform.

Then, I submitted my immediate transfer request to the most grueling, desolate outpost on the border. His long fingers tugged impatiently at his tie.

His jaw locked tight, and his voice carried the heavy weight of someone used to absolute obedience. "Stop this nonsense. I'm giving you one month to cool off.

Be back in exactly thirty days for the wedding, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened." He had no idea. I was never coming back.

Later, rumor had it that the untouchable military god tore the entire world apart looking for me.

Chapter 1 "The thirdclass merit for Operation Red Blade goes to—Officer Sienna!" The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. A blinding spotlight snapped onto Sienna.

She stood in a crisp, brandnew uniform, looking like a blooming sunflower. I sat in the audience. The applause thundered, rattling my eardrums.

My fingertips turned icecold, slowly curling inward and digging into my palms. Sharp nails pierced my skin, and warm liquid seeped out. I couldn't feel any pain.

I only heard the deafening applause mocking my stupidity. Operation Red Blade. A border defense IT project that consumed six grueling months.

One hundred and eighty days and nights of me leading the tech team, hammering out code line by line, drawing up blueprints sheet by sheet.

At the project's success banquet, Zander had raised his glass, showing me that rare, relaxed smile. He had said, "Delaney, you've worked hard.

You deserve this thirdclass merit." I believed him. But right now, the person standing on the podium, soaking up all the glory, was Sienna.

She was the division commander's daughter. She transferred in two months ago as a psychological counselor. Bubbly, vivacious, everyone adored her.

She had only visited the project team three times, and every single time, it was just to drop off Zander's favorite iced Americano.

I looked up at Zander, standing dead center on the main stage. He wore a perfectly tailored officer's uniform, the stars on his epaulets catching the light.

He picked up the gleaming gold medal himself, leaned down slightly, and carefully pinned it to Sienna's chest. From this distance, I couldn't read his expression.

But I saw Sienna looking up at him, stars in her eyes. I clearly saw his large, calloused hand lightly brush against the skin of Sienna's collarbone.

For the past ten years, that was an absolute private territory he only allowed me to enter. Zander had an intense need for personal space.

Besides me, he never let anyone get that close. Ten years. I thought I was the only exception. A biting chill shot up from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. I smiled. A silent, hollow stretch of my lips. A coworker nudged my arm, dropping her voice. "Delaney, what's going on?

Wasn't this your commendation?" "Yeah, why did Commander Zander give the merit to Sienna?

Didn't she just get here?" I shook my head, keeping my smile perfectly measured. "Orders are orders." The whispers around me faded. Right. He was the commander.

His decision was the absolute order. The assembly ended, and the crowd dispersed. Zander was surrounded by a tight circle of people.

Sienna shadowed his every step, chattering away and making the men around them laugh. Zander's gaze swept through the crowd and landed on me. His brow furrowed slightly.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just let the crowd sweep him away.

His look carried a sickeningly familiar sense of entitlement—an unspoken assumption that I was always sensible, that I would just understand.

I stood rooted to the spot until the hallway emptied out completely. That medal—my medal—felt like a branding iron pressed directly against my ribs.

A decade of silent obedience shattered, leaving nothing but sharp, jagged edges in my chest. I went back to the apartment I shared with Zander. Calling it a home was a stretch.

It was more like his personal logistics base. For ten years, I had managed every single aspect of his life within these walls.

Chapter 2 The walls were plastered with his various commendations. The shelves overflowed with his military strategy books.

In the walkin closet, his tactical gear and my casual clothes hung neatly on opposite sides, like two entirely separate worlds.

I walked into the closet and pulled out my small suitcase. I didn't own much. A few clothes, a handful of books. Ten minutes was all it took to pack up my entire life here.

Finally, I pulled open the nightstand drawer. A velvet box sat inside.

I flipped the lid back, revealing a minimalist diamond ring. "When this mission is over, we're getting married," he had said.

I picked up the expensive diamond and, without a single shred of hesitation, tossed it onto the cold wooden nightstand. It landed with a sharp, metallic clink.

I pulled out my phone and pulled up Zander's contact. No ultimatums. No screaming fits.

Just a few simple words. "Zander, the engagement is off." Then, I blocked his number across every platform.

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked out of the apartment that had drained ten years of my youth, not looking back once. The door clicked shut behind me.

When I dropped my transfer request on Harvey's desk, the Base Director nearly fell out of his leather chair. "Delaney, are you out of your mind?

You want a transfer to Windblade Outpost? That's the most desolate border station in the country.

It's the absolute middle of nowhere, and the conditions out there will strip a layer of skin right off your bones!" I calmly pushed the application form closer to him. "Harvey, I know exactly what I'm doing." Harvey stared at me like I had two heads. "You and Zander… aren't you getting married next month?

What kind of stunt are you pulling right now?" "We're done," I said. Harvey froze.

His insulated thermos slipped from his grip and slammed onto the floor, sending scalding water splashing across the linoleum. "This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

You two are the military district's golden couple." "You can't just snap your fingers and call it quits. Does Zander even know?" "It's my decision.

It has nothing to do with him." I didn't flinch. Harvey realized he was talking to a brick wall.

He let out a heavy sigh, grabbed his pen, and scrawled his signature across the bottom line of my transfer form. "Just so you know, once I file this, there's no going back." "Thank you." I gave him a crisp salute, turned on my heel, and walked out.

No going back. Exactly what I wanted. The paperwork cleared faster than I expected. To everyone else, this probably looked like a temper tantrum.

They all figured I'd spend a few miserable days on the border and come crying back. The day I left, the sky was a heavy, overcast gray.

I stood at the main gates of the military compound in civilian clothes, gripping the handle of my small suitcase. A black tactical SUV pulled up and stopped right in front of me.

The tinted window rolled down, revealing Zander's sharp, rigid profile. His brow locked into a deep frown.

His prominent knuckles tapped a rapid, impatient rhythm against the leather steering wheel, and his jawline cut a hard, rigid angle as his teeth ground together.

He jerked his chin toward the passenger seat. "Get in." I didn't move an inch. "Delaney, I don't have the time or the patience for these childish games," his voice dropped into that familiar, icy tone of command. "I'll admit, giving her the credit was an oversight on my part." "But Sienna's father is inspecting the base next month, and that thirdclass merit means a lot to her.

You've always been the bigger person. Why are you acting that unreasonable right now?" I stared at him, and a bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in my throat.

In his eyes, ten years of my life, my relentless dedication, and my bleedingedge expertise were disposable.

They were just bargaining chips he could trade away for his political connections. My "maturity" was nothing more than an expectation that I would just roll over and take it.

Chapter 3 "Commander Zander," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "First of all, it's Officer Delaney to you.

Second, my transfer is a standard operational reassignment and has absolutely nothing to do with you.

And finally, I wish you and Officer Sienna a bright and happy future." I gripped the handle of my suitcase and turned on my heel, walking toward the cab waiting by the curb. "Delaney!" He shoved his car door open.

His hand clamped around my wrist like a vice, the sheer force of his grip bruising the bone. "What exactly is your endgame here? There's a limit to these tantrums.

Get back in the car. I'm willing to pretend none of this happened." I looked down at his hand. For ten years, those hands had held me, pulled me close.

Now, his touch just sent a wave of absolute revulsion crawling up my spine. I didn't fight his grip.

I just met his eyes with a dead, hollow stare. "Zander, have you ever stopped to think about how you're going to function without me?" His grip loosened a fraction. "What does that mean?" "You're hypersensitive to caffeine, so you can only drink the warm oat milk latte I perfectly ratio for you every morning.

Your tactical gear has to be hung from left to right strictly by mission threat level." "That vintage Macallan your father left you in the study?

Nobody but me knows exactly which specific cabinet you habitually stash it in after a pour…" I rattled off the habits burned into my marrow. "Who else do you think is going to do all of that?" The muscles in his jaw visibly twitched, and a rigid stiffness overtook his broad shoulders.

For years, I was oxygen to him—silent, invisible, but keeping him alive.

He was so utterly used to my orchestration that he mistook it for a universal given. "Are you threatening me?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous octave.

I let out a dry laugh and easily pulled my wrist free. "No. I'm giving you a reality check. Starting today, none of that is your privilege anymore." "Delaney!" I didn't look back.

I yanked the cab door open and slid inside. The engine rumbled to life. In the rearview mirror, Zander's figure shrank.

He stood frozen on the asphalt, his crisp uniform swallowed by the heavy, overcast sky. He honestly believed I was just throwing a fit.

He thought I'd come crawling back, begging for his scraps within the week. He didn't realize that when you rip the roots out completely, nothing ever grows back.

Getting from the military headquarters to Windblade Outpost was a brutal logistical nightmare: an eighthour flight in the freezing belly of a military transport plane, followed by four hours in a tactical rover, and finally, a twohour bonerattling drive up a jagged mountain pass.

By the time I dragged my suitcase to the gates of the infamous outpost, the setting sun was painting the distant snowcapped peaks a bleeding crimson.

The wind whipped across the barren plateau, slicing at my face like broken glass, carrying the raw, unfiltered grit of the wild. The outpost was small.

Just a few rows of gray concrete bunkers and the Stars and Stripes snapping in the wind, a stark splash of color against the desolate wasteland.

A young soldier in faded tactical camos jogged over, openly sizing me up. "You the new transfer, Officer Delaney?" I nodded. "I'm Tucker.

The Captain sent me to grab you." He rubbed the back of his neck, flashing a crooked grin. "We haven't had a female officer stationed out here in years, especially not brass straight from HQ.

You're basically a unicorn!" I followed him inside the perimeter. The outpost was dead quiet, save for a few passing patrolmen.

Their skin was baked a tough, weathered bronze by the sun, but their eyes were razorsharp. The door to the Captain's office was propped wide open.

I rapped my knuckles against the doorframe. "Come in." A deep, gravelly voice echoed from inside. Chapter 4 I walked in.

A man stood with his back to me, leaning over a massive tactical sand table.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, his faded tactical fatigues clinging to the fluid, hard lines of his muscles.

The second he turned around, his massive, broadshouldered frame seemed to suck all the oxygen right out of the room.

A heavy wave of raw testosterone, smelling of sharp gunpowder and biting wind, hit me straight in the face. He was young—maybe late twenties.

His deepset, piercing eyes locked onto me like a hawk zeroing in on its prey, but the corner of his mouth tipped up in a highly aggressive, cynical smirk. "So you're Delaney?" He raked his gaze over me from head to toe, completely unapologetic. "Reporting for duty, Captain.

Communications and Technology Officer Delaney." I snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute.

He returned the salute with a lazy flick of his wrist, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Ezra. Captain of the Windblade Recon Company." So this was Ezra.

I'd read his file before coming here. Old military money. His grandfather was a founding general, and his father was General Donovan, the current commander of the army group.

Yet Ezra himself was notorious at the academy for being an absolute renegade.

After graduation, he voluntarily requested a transfer to this godforsaken outpost and had been dug in here for five years straight. "What brings the HQ Princess all the way out here?" He cocked an eyebrow, his tone dripping with dry mockery. "Slumming it for the aesthetic?" I didn't answer.

I just met his eyes with a deadlevel stare. Ezra clicked his tongue at my silence. He waved a dismissive hand. "Alright, Tucker, take her to the barracks.

Things are rough around here. Don't let our little HQ flower freeze to death." My quarters were at the far east end of the compound. A tiny single room.

A stiff wooden cot, a metal desk, and a single footlocker. That was it. Outside the frostrimmed window, the endless, barren wasteland stretched out—desolate, but vast.

That night, the outpost threw a barebones welcome bonfire. Flames cracked and hissed against the biting plateau wind.

The men sat in a wide circle around the fire, roasting slabs of meat and downing cheap beer.

Ezra sat with a battered acoustic guitar resting on his knee, singing some gritty country rock song I didn't recognize.

His voice was rough as gravel, laced with an untamed, reckless kind of freedom. "Keep your foot on the gas, darlin', and don't look in the rearview…" The rough lyrics drifted into the night wind.

I pulled my heavy parka tighter around my shoulders and took a sip of the scalding tea from my tin mug. Everything here was worlds apart from HQ. No sterile apartments.

No perfectly pressed dress uniforms. No tiptoeing around fragile egos and political minefields.

There was just the biting wind, the roaring fire, and a pack of unapologetic, hardened soldiers.

A young grunt with sunburned cheeks handed me a sizzling, fatdripping skewer of meat. "Try it, Officer Delaney!

Captain Ezra's barbecue is legendary around here!" I took it, murmured a thanks, and took a bite. It burned my tongue, but it was incredibly savory.

Ezra finished his set, leaned his guitar against a log, and dropped down onto the dirt right beside me.

He shoved a cold beer bottle in my direction. "Drink?" I shook my head. "I don't drink." He didn't push it.

He tipped the bottle back, took a long pull, and then turned his sharp gaze on me. "Still hung up on the guy?" I froze, the mug of tea halting halfway to my mouth. "Eight out of ten transfers from HQ are running from a bad breakup." He let out a scoff, though his eyes were perfectly lucid in the firelight. "But let me give you a piece of advice.

Exiling yourself to this hellhole over some dude?

Not worth it." "I'm not here for a man." I stared straight into the crackling flames, my voice quiet but rocksolid. "I'm here for me." Ezra cocked an eyebrow, genuinely caught off guard for a second.

He studied my profile for a few beats before a slow grin spread across his face. "Interesting.

Guess we'll see if the little HQ Princess can actually survive the frost out here at Windblade." He pushed himself up off the dirt, dusted off his fatigues, and strolled back to the bonfire, blending right back into the loud, raucous laughter of his men.

Chapter 5 I watched his broad back disappear into the dark. For the first time, I thought coming to this wasteland might actually be the right call.

My job at Windblade Outpost was simple: maintain the comms grid and crunch data. The tech out here was ancient garbage.

Most of it consisted of headquarters' handmedowns with a massive failure rate. I spent my entire first week locked inside the comms bunker. The place looked like a junkyard.

Gutted server towers and dustchoked motherboards covered every inch of counter space.

I tore into all of it, cataloging every fried circuit and drawing up hard contingency protocols. At first, the grunts eyed me like I was some fragile HQ porcelain.

But after a few days of watching me crawl out of the server racks covered in grease and smelling like burnt solder, their stares shifted.

The real test came during a midnight blizzard. The wind howled like a starved wolf.

Heavy snow completely sealed the mountain pass, severing almost all our uplinks to the outside world. Out of nowhere, the longrange radar grid shrieked a highpitched alarm.

Every monitor in the room fractured into harsh, blinding static.

Ezra kicked the bunker door open. "What the hell is going on?" Tucker scrambled out of his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. "Radar signal is dead, Captain!

The blizzard must have shredded the external lines!" That radar was our only line of sight. In this weather, losing it meant we were fighting blind.

If hostiles crossed the border right now, it would be a total slaughter. Ezra slammed a hand against the wall. "Where is the repair crew?

Get them up the mountain to check the lines right now!" "We can't, Captain! The snow is too thick! A man wouldn't make it ten feet out there!" Dead silence dropped over the bunker.

The men stared at the screens, completely paralyzed.

I shoved past them and stepped up to the main terminal, my eyes tracking the raw data waterfalling across the screen. "It's not the external lines," I said.

My voice wasn't loud, but it cut right through the panic. "The C3 module in the core processor overloaded.

It shattered the data stream." Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to me.

Ezra stepped up right behind me. "You are sure?" "Positive." I dragged the keyboard closer and hammered out a rapid sequence, pulling up a dense wall of raw code. "Look right here.

The data entering the C3 module is perfectly stable. The output end is pure garbage.

This is ground zero." Eugene, the senior tech, frowned hard. "That C3 module is an encrypted core. You mess with one wire, you fry the whole grid." "Nobody here touches it.

Plus, that is tenyearold hardware.

HQ does not even stock backup parts for that junk anymore." "We don't need a backup." I grabbed a screwdriver and a soldering gun from the work table. "Give me exactly ten minutes." Under the deadsilent stares of the entire room, I ripped the casing right off the main server tower.

I could write the data stream for this encrypted core in my sleep.

Ten years ago, in the final terminal tests at the toptier military lab, I was the one who personally built the underlying architecture for this exact system.

Turns out all that deepcode history was about to save our lives. I took a sharp breath. I fired up the soldering gun and precisely melted three connecting wires.

Then, grabbing a spare piece of copper wire, I physically bypassed the dead module and bridged a brandnew microcircuit right on the board. My hands did not shake.

Not even a fraction. You would not know it had been a decade since I last held a soldering gun.

Everything I had buried and boxed up just to play the perfect shadow for Zander suddenly ripped right back to the surface. "Done." I slammed the server casing shut and hammered the manual reboot button.

The entire room completely stopped breathing. Chapter 6