I made my way back up through the hidden passage, the door sliding shut behind me with a soft, familiar click. In seconds, the hum of machines and low voices disappeared, replaced by the gentle noise of the coffee shop above. Cups clinked. Someone laughed. The smell of roasted beans wrapped around me like nothing extraordinary had ever existed beneath the floor.
I stepped out of the back of the café and into the open space, blending easily with the evening crowd. For a moment, I stood there, adjusting my bag, letting myself breathe. No codes. No shadows. Just me.
The walk home was quiet. Streetlights glowed softly, and the city felt slower now, less demanding. I replayed fragments of the day in my mind—Angel's laughter, the handler's careless smile, the weight of the mission that waited for me. It was strange how life could feel so normal when everything else was anything but.
At home, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and let the silence settle in. I washed my face, changed into something comfortable, and curled up on the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow meant studying my target, learning their patterns, finding their weaknesses, deciding how to take them down.
But tonight, I allowed myself rest.
I closed my eyes, knowing that this calm was temporary—and that when morning came, I would be ready.
The house had been quiet, wrapped in the deep stillness of night. I had been small then, tucked safely between my parents, the steady rhythm of their breathing surrounding me like a shield. Everything felt warm. Ordinary. Safe.
Somewhere in the distance, a sound broke through the silence.
My father stirred first. His body tensed, his breathing changing as he listened harder. There were voices—low, hurried—and the sound of things being dragged and knocked over downstairs. He sat up immediately, eyes sharp with a fear I had never seen before. He leaned over, shaking my mother awake, whispering urgently that something was wrong, that we had to hide, that something bad was about to happen.
I didn't understand. I was still half-asleep, too young to grasp the weight in his voice. My mother, though, understood instantly. Her face drained of color as she pulled me into her arms, holding me so tightly it almost hurt. She moved quickly, silently, carrying me into the other room—the same room we had just left—trying to make it feel like a game, like nothing was wrong.
My father stayed behind.
I remember looking back once, seeing him pause in the doorway, his face set with determination and fear mixed together. Then he turned away. That was the last time I ever saw him.
The noises grew louder. Footsteps. Shouting. Furniture crashing. Then the sharp, terrifying crack of gunfire shattered the night. My mother dropped to the floor, curling her body around mine, shielding me completely. I could feel her trembling, her breath uneven as more sounds echoed through the house—too many to understand, too violent to ignore.
Time stretched painfully. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I just stayed frozen against her chest, listening.
When the noise finally faded, when the house fell into an eerie, unnatural quiet, my mother slowly loosened her grip. She whispered for me to stay hidden. Then she stood and went downstairs.
Moments later, footsteps returned—coming up.
My heart pounded as I heard voices closer now. My mother spoke, her voice strained but steady, drawing them away from where I was hidden. I heard movement shift, footsteps turning, her leading them farther down the hall.
Then—
Another gunshot.
My chest seized. Air rushed into my lungs in a sharp gasp as my eyes flew open, my body jerking upright in the darkness. My heart was racing, hands shaking, breath uneven as the present rushed back in around me.
The room was silent.
But the echo of that night still clung to me, heavy and unshakable.
My phone buzzed again before I could close the files. I picked it up without hesitation.
"Yeah?" I said.
"I forgot to mention something," Liam said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "You're not going in as staff. Or security. Or press."
I frowned slightly. "Then as what?"
"As one of the special guests," he replied easily. "The Qinns invite a handful of women to every banquet. Same category every time. No one ever questions it. No one knows why they do it—and no one dares ask."
I leaned forward. "You're serious,they are too predictable."
"Dead serious," he said. "They call them the ladies of distinction. Wealthy. Discreet. Untouchable, and amazingly beautiful, because they are personally chosen by Ezekiel Qin. You'll blend in perfectly."
"Geez l didn't expect them to be those kind of womanizers. And my cover?" I asked. "I'm not walking into a mafia banquet on vibes alone."
Liam laughed softly. "Relax. I've already handled it. Tonight, you're Elara Vale—private art investor, international donor, no fixed address. Clean records, believable money trail, invitations already printed."
There was a pause. "And the disguise?"
"I'm bringing it to you," he said. "Nothing loud. Nothing suspicious. Elegant, expensive, forgettable in the right way. And l personally chose the for you." he said goofly,
I heard movement on his end, like a drawer opening.
"Black silk gown," he continued. "Long sleeves. Open back, but tasteful. Jewelry is minimal—pearls, not diamonds. Hair down, soft waves. Makeup natural. You're not there to be remembered. You're there to be accepted."
"And weapons?" I asked quietly.
"Hidden," he said. "A blade woven into the inner seam of the dress. Microcom disguised as an earring. Phone stays with me unless you need it."
I exhaled slowly. "You're crazy,you know that." I chuckled.
"I've seen you do harder things in worse disguises," Liam replied. "This one won't get you noticed for the wrong reasons, and you just only hope that he will see you and get attracted to you, because with that personality of yours, you ar gonna die single for real." he blurted out making me want to smack his head.
" And you are the one talking,can you at least be serious for once."
I glanced again at Alexander Qinn's photo, then closed the file. "And security?"
"Tight," he admitted. "But guests like you are protected, not questioned. Especially by Ezekiel Qinn. And his sons…" He hesitated. "Alexander will be there."
Something shifted in my chest. I ignored it.
"Alright," I said evenly. "When?"
"Tonight, around at nine," Liam replied. "I'll meet you in the evening. Try not to overthink it."
I gave a small, humorless smile. "You know me better than that."
He chuckled. "Yeah. That's why I trust you."
The call ended.
I stood there in the quiet room, the weight of the past steadying my spine, the future pulling me forward. This wasn't just a disguise.
It was an invitation into the lion's den.
And I was going to walk in like I belonged.