CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 137. Decoding

The drone had come an hour ago. Adrian had cleared the marble table of everything but a microscope, a digital sequencing device, and several glowing samples suspended in dense containment vials. The room was quiet, save for the occasional hum of cooling vents and the soft clink of metal tools as Adrian laid them out one by one.

The serum vial shimmered ominously beneath the sterile light—a sickly, opalescent hue with veins of violet and gold curling within, as if alive. It pulsed slightly with a heat of its own.

Adrian had already donned a lightweight lab coat over his sleepwear. His long black hair was tied up hastily, and dark circles had begun to form beneath his silver eyes. He hadn’t eaten since morning.

Ethan stood at the doorway for several seconds without saying a word.

He watched his husband from the threshold, his tall frame partially backlit by the hall lights. Adrian didn’t glance up. He was laser-focused on aligning a magnification lens to the digital scanner.

Ethan stepped inside quietly, careful not to knock anything over. In his hands was a mug of hot tea, gently steaming—sweetened lightly, just the way Adrian liked it. He set it beside the microscope with the same reverence he might give to a sacred offering.

"Adrian," he said softly.

Adrian adjusted a knob and squinted into the lens. "Hm?"

Ethan placed a hand gently on Adrian’s shoulder.

"You need to take a break," he said.

Adrian didn’t flinch, but the breath he took was tight.

"I can’t," he replied flatly.

Ethan’s brows furrowed. "You’ve been in here for hours. You haven’t had a single bite. The tea’s hot. At least drink it."

"I said I can’t."

His tone wasn’t harsh—but firm.

"I don’t have time to rest," Adrian continued, pulling a digital screen toward him and syncing the molecular sample readout. "I’ve already lost twenty minutes trying to determine the bonding agent on the inner ring of the compound. It’s shifting on contact with stabilizers. It shouldn’t be doing that."

Ethan moved closer, crouching slightly so he was at eye level with Adrian’s seated form.

"Adrian..." he murmured.

Adrian finally looked up. His eyes shimmered under the artificial light—exhausted, but still resolute.

"I know you’re worried," Adrian said quietly. "But the only way I survive this is if I can solve it. If I can crack it. If I can finish this before it spreads."

Ethan looked at him for a moment, silent.

Then, very gently, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Adrian’s closed eyes.

Adrian inhaled sharply—not expecting it. His lips parted, a soft tremor in his shoulders betraying the tension he was trying so hard to hold.

"Don’t do that," Adrian whispered. "Don’t distract me."

"You haven’t blinked in twenty minutes."

"Ethan, please—"

"I’m just asking you to breathe."

Adrian exhaled heavily and tried to focus again.

Ethan rose to his full height and stepped back.

"I’ll be just outside," he said. "Call me if anything changes. Promise me."

"I will," Adrian said without turning.

"And drink the damn tea," Ethan added with a small smirk before quietly leaving the room.

The door shut softly behind him.

Alone again, Adrian sat in silence for a moment, the mug’s warmth beside him untouched.

He pulled the serum closer under the scanner and whispered, "Let’s find out what kind of monster you are."

Adrian began decoding the compound layer by layer.

The first fifteen minutes passed in silence—punctuated only by the soft clicks of the interface and the occasional hiss of the scanner adjusting its focus.

The compound was maddening.

It had a core structure built on a rewritten sequence of human DNA, but it wasn’t just genetic manipulation. There was nanotech interwoven—living nanomachines that adapted and bonded to host tissue, rewriting gene expression in real-time.

Adrian’s breath caught as he read the metadata string embedded in the serum.

Generation Model: ATOP-A14-RR//Neuropath VariantKey Markers: C4-THX, HMB45+ (Active)Tolerance Range: 3% human populationSurvivability Index: 2.7% (Known)

Only 2.7% of the human population could survive initial exposure.

And from what Savas had said earlier... Adrian was part of that 2.7%.

Which meant nearly everyone else would die.

He bit his lower lip as he ran the blood sample of his own DNA against the compound to see how it reacted. The monitor spiked with orange-red indicators—match detected. The compound stabilized.

He frowned. That much he expected.

But when he tried a simulation using Ethan’s blood markers—already loaded in the family medical files—the compound rejected the host. Violently. Tissue degradation within two minutes.

"Damn it," Adrian whispered, fingers flying over the keys.

That meant even Ethan wasn’t immune. Nor were their children.

He blinked hard. There was no room for panic.

He ran another simulation, introducing a chemical compound that might bridge the gap—an agent with Atop-compatible cellular dampeners. It slowed the reaction by thirty seconds. Barely anything.

He tried a fourth simulation using a hybrid sequence that he remembered seeing in one of his father’s old notebooks. Jesper Sebanil—their male mother—had once studied a biochemical enzyme that slowed neural degradation in hybrid pregnancies.

Adrian’s hands trembled.

"I need that enzyme," he muttered. "I need Jesper’s notes."

He opened a secure channel and pinged the old home server at the Sebanil estate. It was ancient, buried beneath layers of encryptions—but Adrian knew the passwords.

One file blinked to life.

Project: Aegis Seraphim - Draft Compound (J.Sebanil)Subnotes: Bonding agent for fetal protection in unstable ATOP environments.

He downloaded it instantly and applied the compound virtually to the serum model.

The simulated reaction slowed again.

60 seconds. Then 120.

Adrian leaned forward, hope sparking.

At 145 seconds, the reaction halted entirely.

His eyes widened. "That’s it..."

But then—

ALERT: Compound mutating...

The readout glitched. The compound changed, adapting to the countermeasure.

Adrian’s heart sank.

"It learns," he whispered. "Of course it learns..."

He buried his face in his hands for one long moment.

But then he inhaled. Sat back up.

"No," he said to the compound. "You’re not winning this time."

He opened another file. Jesper had mentioned a backup serum that suppressed neural activity temporarily, giving the immune system more time to adjust. freёwebnoѵel.com

Adrian cross-applied that to the stabilizer.

He would not sleep tonight.

He would not eat.

He would fight.

Because his children, his husband, his family—the entire country—was depending on him.

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