MIDWEST ROYAL
Another system crashed. Another organisation wiped from existence.
Tori Addams moved through the digital world like a ghost—silent, swift, unstoppable. Within seconds, firewalls crumbled. Within minutes, empires fell.
Her name echoed through the underworld like a curse.
The Ice Queen. The Phantom. Number One.
Feared. Respected. Hated.
She didn't care.
As long as she got paid, as long as every mission dragged her one step closer to freedom, the world could burn for all it mattered.
But freedom was expensive.
One billion dollars expensive.
---
Tori kicked off her boots and padded barefoot across cold hardwood floors, heading toward her closet. Shorts and an oversized shirt hung loose on her frame—the closest thing to comfort she allowed herself.
She was reaching for her pyjamas when her burner phone buzzed.
The cracked screen lit up with a message that made her blood run cold:
CITY: WINTER
TARGET: BELL ROYAL
REWARD: FREEDOM
---------------------------------------
Her hand froze mid-reach.
'Bell Royal.'
A Royal. They were sending her after a Royal.
The Royals weren't just wealthy—they were untouchable. Old money. Dangerous bloodlines. Power that bent governments and crushed empires.
And Bell Royal was the worst of them all.
She'd seen him once during a surveillance mission. Just once. And that single glimpse had been enough.
Cold mismatched eyes that saw through flesh and bone.
A face carved from ice and cruelty.
A devil wearing an angel's skin.
Every assassin sent after him disappeared. No bodies. No traces. Just... gone.
This wasn't a mission.
It was a death sentence.
"Damn it!" Tori kicked the table, sending her laptop skittering across the surface.
She stormed onto the balcony, letting freezing air bite into her skin. The city sprawled below—glittering, indifferent, alive with people who had no idea what monsters walked among them.
And there he was.
His face dominated a massive billboard across the skyline, advertising some new tech empire. Sharp jawline. Perfect features. A smile that could seduce nations.
Handsome didn't begin to cover it.
But Tori saw past the mask. She saw the monster underneath—the man who tortured information from victims, who fed enemies to creatures called Morphers, whatever the hell those were.
A man who killed without hesitation.
And now she had to get close to him.
She turned away from the billboard, retreating inside. Her gun rested on the nightstand—cold comfort. She lay down beside it, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come.
It never did anymore.
---
MEANWHILE — THE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND
Screams shattered the silence.
A man writhed in a metal chair, sweat pouring down his face. A heated iron pressed against his thigh, searing through flesh. The smell of burning meat filled the warehouse.
Bell Royal stood before him, impossibly tall, impossibly still. His mismatched eyes held no emotion—no anger, no satisfaction, no mercy.
Just cold calculation.
He tapped a finger against the armrest of his own chair, like the man's agony was nothing more than elevator music.
"Ready to talk?" His voice was velvet wrapped around steel.
The man sobbed, choking on pain. "I—It was the Wind Guard! They paid us to—"
'BANG.'
The gunshot echoed through the warehouse.
The man collapsed sideways, clutching his stomach, blood pooling beneath the chair.
Bell didn't even blink.
"Kill him," he said, standing. "Feed him to the Morphers."
"No—NO!" The man grabbed desperately at Bell's pant leg, tears streaming. "Please! I'll tell you everything! Not the Morphers—'please'—"
A blonde guard—stepped forward and kicked the man's hand away, pinning him to the ground.
Bell adjusted his cufflinks, expression unchanged. "You had your chance."
He walked toward the exit, his Italian leather shoes clicking against concrete.
Behind him, the man's screams rose to a fever pitch before cutting off abruptly.
Silence returned.
Bell Royal didn't look back. He never did.
Anyone who crossed him met the same fate—darkness, pain, and monsters in the night.
The underworld whispered his name with the same reverence reserved for death itself.
'The Devil of Midwest Royal.'
And tomorrow, the Ice Queen would walk straight into his domain.
Neither of them knew it yet, but the game had already begun.
---