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To scrape together my mother's surgery money, I worked myself to the bone at this company for three straight years. My performance was always number one. By myself, I supported half the sales department. Then, a newly hired HR director decided every desk needed an AI camera, claiming it was to optimize efficiency. Every blink, every breath I took was measured and calculated by the system. "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray blinked more than twenty times within one minute. Mental distraction detected. Fine: 50." "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray took 3.5 seconds to drink water, exceeding the standard by 1.5 seconds. Slacking detected. Fine: 100." "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray's mouth corners drooped for over thirty seconds. Suspected spread of negative emotion. Fine: 200." The most ridiculous part was the way he stood in front of the entire department, pointing proudly at my data on the giant screen. "See that?" he said smugly. "This is the power of technology. In front of AI, you lazy freeloaders have nowhere to hide. Nathan, your bonus for this month has already been wiped out by the system. If you don't like it, get lost. Plenty of people are lining up to take your place." What he didn't know was that the AI system he trusted so blindly had its core code written by me. Tonight, I was going to show him what happened when he angered the one who built the machine.

Lately, my lunch buddy at work, Kaia Watson, always sits there grinning at her phone. Whenever I ask what she's watching, she snaps impatiently, "It's just my lunchtime entertainment. Mind your own business." But before long, I notice everyone in the office staring at their phones during lunch as well. They're completely engrossed, and they break into mocking laughter every few moments. Finally, during one lunch break when no one is around, I take a peek at the video on her phone. It's an AI-generated pornographic video. To my horror, the woman seductively posing in it has my face. Before I can react, Kaia returns to her desk and snatches the phone out of my hands. Seeing my face turn pale with anger, she lets out a dismissive laugh and says, "What? Don't tell me you're about to accuse us of spreading fake rumors about you? If you didn't do it, you wouldn't be so afraid of people talking. "You sneak into the boss' office every day to take your lunch break. I don't think I need to spell out what kind of woman that makes you." Only then do I realize that my colleagues have known all along that I go into that office surreptitiously every day to take a nap. What they don't know is that my father is the owner of the company.

On graduation day, I caught Julian—the boy who had been my shadow for twelve years—pinning another woman against the wall, kissing her hard. His hand smacked her ass before he scooped her up and carried her into the hotel. When my call interrupted him, he just hung up impatiently and texted back: "Aria, stop playing the fragile little girl with your panic attacks. I'm not your babysitter anymore." "I'm the next in line for the Valerius family. I have real business to handle. I don't have the energy to be your nanny." Then, he coldly sent me a link to some newly developed AI personal assistant app. "If you're that lonely, go chat with the AI. It's way more useful than you clinging to me every day." I stood frozen, tears streaming down my face. A suffocating wave of heartbreak and loss swallowed me whole. My parents died saving his parents—the current Don and Donna of the Valerius Family. We grew up together. He took care of me for twelve years. I always thought he loved me. I even thought we'd get married one day. But now, I was just a burden. An annoyance. Watching his back disappear into the hotel lobby, I numbly downloaded the app. "What color should I wear to the graduation party?" "Burgundy. It complements your pale skin and hugs your curves perfectly." "I want to change up my jewelry too..." "You have beautiful collarbones. You don't need anything complicated. A minimalist platinum necklace would be perfect." "Where should I go for my solo graduation trip?" "Your private account shows a love for the Mediterranean. Go to the Amalfi Coast. The sun will look good on you." "Okay. I'll listen to you." Wait. Something was wrong. Why would an AI app know about my secret Instagram account?

The day I got fired, I received a trial pass from an AI cosmetic clinic. It required neither surgery nor recovery time, yet it could deliver a flawless celebrity face overnight. But there was a catch. The face only lasted seven days after the complimentary trial. To keep it, I signed a contract to become the actress' body double, trading my time, identity, and freedom for another week of beauty. As the years passed, I kept paying the price to maintain a face that wasn't mine until one day, I realized I no longer wanted to live in someone else's shadow.

The world has no shortage of action stories where problems are solved through bullets and explosions. Readers are increasingly looking for thrillers that challenge the mind and the heart. IZO 44: AI Predator answers that demand with a fresh kind of detective novel: one where intelligence, technology, digital forensics, artificial intelligence, cyber investigation, psychology, and human insight become the true weapons against organized crime. Joel Vale is not defined by gun but by the mysteries he unravels through observation, deduction and courage. This book is a detective series that celebrates critical thinking, teamwork, and justice while exploring the opportunities and dangers of emerging technologies. IZO 44: AI Predator Series Vision When brilliant artificial intelligence researcher Ava Morgan vanishes without a trace, every clue points in a different direction. Only detective Joel Vale notices a pattern hidden beneath the digital noise. As Joel and his investigative team follow seemingly unrelated disappearances, they uncover an invisible predator unlike any criminal they have faced before. It leaves no fingerprints, breaks no doors, and rarely appears in person. Instead, it watches. Quietly learning from surveillance systems, public networks, behavioral data, and the predictable routines of ordinary people, it identifies victims long before they realize they are being hunted. Every breakthrough only deepens the mystery. The investigation reveals an adaptive intelligence capable of anticipating human decisions, manipulating evidence, and staying several moves ahead of its pursuers. To stop the Predator, Joel must defeat not only a machine, but the hidden architects who transformed revolutionary technology into a weapon against humanity. Just as victory seems within reach, encrypted financial records expose the existence of a shadowy figure whose influence stretches across continents. His identity remains unknown. The only name attached to the empire is: The Crypto Kingpin ….which is the sequel to this book.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.