Every passing day felt like a countdown to something inevitable. Damon and I had spent nights planning, going over every possible way to infiltrate James’ company. His electronics empire was massive, and if we wanted to uncover the truth and get the upper hand, we needed to get inside. That meant finding a way to work there—blending in, learning the ins and outs of the place.

The problem? Neither of us knew the first thing about repairing appliances.

So we found someone who did.

For weeks, we trained under an old technician who had no idea who we really were. Damon caught on quickly, his hands steady and precise, while I struggled at first, my frustration mounting with every mistake. But I had no choice—I had to learn. This was the only way.

When the day finally came to apply for jobs, I felt confident. That was until Damon stopped me outside the company gates.

“You can’t go in like that,” he muttered, scanning my face.

“What do you mean?” I frowned, adjusting my cap.

He let out a sigh. “Zoey, you were famous once. Even with your accident and everything that happened, people will recognize you. You need to disguise yourself.”

I hated that he was right.

Reluctantly, I bought a short, choppy wig that completely altered my look. My long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by something straight and dull. I changed my style, darkened my skin slightly with makeup, and even wore thick-rimmed glasses to make myself look like a completely different person. It was unsettling how easy it was to disappear behind a fake identity.

For a few days, it worked.

But then… I noticed something strange.

A man.

He was always nearby—too close for coincidence. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid, but then I saw him again. At a coffee shop. In the company cafeteria. Outside the dormitory we were renting.

I told Damon about him, and he immediately went on high alert. “Someone’s watching you,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to be careful.”

We were right to be worried.

A few nights later, my world shattered again.

It started with a single photo. One that spread like wildfire across social media. A blurry shot of me—disguised but still recognizable to those who knew me well. The caption made my stomach drop.

"Spotted: Is former singer Zoey back from the dead?"

Panic gripped me.

Who took this? Who posted it? Was it that obsessed fan? Or worse… James?

Damon and I packed our things that night, preparing to leave the city before James or his men could find us. But we weren’t fast enough.

As we stepped onto the quiet street, a van screeched to a halt in front of us. The doors swung open, and before I could react, figures in black masks lunged at me.

“Run!” Damon shouted, but it was too late.

I fought. I kicked, screamed, thrashed. But they were stronger.

The last thing I saw before darkness consumed me was James stepping out of the van, his face cold and unforgiving.

I woke up in a dimly lit room, my wrists bound, my body aching. My head throbbed from the rough handling, and my throat felt raw from screaming.

James sat across from me, twirling a knife between his fingers.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he mused, his voice calm, almost amused.

I glared at him. “Go to hell.”

His smirk widened. “Oh, Zoey. You’re already there.”

Days passed in agony. They didn’t kill me, but they made sure I suffered.

The beatings weren’t brutal, but they were enough to break my spirit little by little. The isolation. The psychological games. James was playing with me, waiting for me to crack.

But I wouldn’t.

I refused to give him the satisfaction.

Then, something unexpected happened.

One night, when I had given up hope of ever escaping, my door creaked open. I tensed, expecting another round of torment.

But it wasn’t James.

It was Kate.

She stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind her. Her expression was unreadable.

“Get up,” she whispered.

I blinked. “What?”

She pulled a knife from her boot and cut the rope binding my wrists. “I’m getting you out of here.”

I hesitated, confused. “Why are you helping me?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just move.”

Still weak, I followed her out, slipping through the shadows of the massive house I had been held in. Every corner, every hallway felt like a trap. But Kate knew the way. She led me to a back door, where a car was already waiting.

As I got in, I couldn’t help but look at her.

Was this some kind of trick?

She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “Don’t thank me,” she said, her voice cold. “Just disappear.”

After escaping, I tracked down Damon, who had somehow survived the ambush that night. He was hiding in a province with his wife, who had miraculously recovered from her illness.

I expected relief when I saw him. Instead, I felt a deep, unsettling fear.

Because standing beside him was someone I never thought I’d see again.

His wife, Lesley.

And I knew exactly who she was.

A hitwoman. One who had been hired to kill me.

I took a shaky step back. “Damon… what the hell is going on?”

Lesley, standing there with calm eyes and a knowing smirk, raised her hands in surrender.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her voice smooth. “But you don’t need to be afraid.”

I clenched my fists. “Why shouldn’t I be? You were paid to kill me.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “That was a long time ago. Things change.”

I didn’t believe her.

Not until she said something that made my blood run cold.

“I know who killed your parents.”

Everything stopped.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest.

“You… what?” I whispered.

Lesley’s smirk faded, replaced by something far more serious.

“I know the truth, Zoey. And if you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for this.

But I needed to know.

Time moved differently in Damon and Lesley’s house. It wasn’t just a hideout—it became my prison and my training ground. For months, I stayed there, my body healing while my mind hardened.

Damon did his best to reassure me that he had no idea about Lesley’s past. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that the man who had risked his life for me wasn’t just another liar in my story.

“I swear, Zoey, I didn’t know,” he told me one evening as we sat in the dimly lit kitchen. “Lesley never told me, and I never asked. But I promise you—whatever happens, I’ll help you until the end.”

His words felt genuine, but promises meant nothing to me anymore.

I focused on one thing: revenge.

And surprisingly, Lesley was the one leading the charge.

One night, while we were mapping out possible ways to take down James, something unexpected happened. Damon leaned against the wall, deep in thought, when suddenly—a section of the floor creaked and shifted. Before we could react, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a dark, winding underground tunnel.

My heart pounded. “What the hell is that?”

Lesley stepped forward, staring at the tunnel as if facing a ghost from her past. “A reminder,” she murmured.

She motioned for me to follow her. I hesitated, but curiosity overpowered my fear. The air was thick with dust and the scent of damp earth. The deeper we went, the colder it got. Finally, Lesley stopped in front of a metal door. She pushed it open, revealing a small, windowless room lit by a single, flickering bulb.

“This is where I planned my escape,” she said quietly, running her fingers along the old wooden table in the center.

I frowned. “Escape from what?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “From the life James forced me into.”

I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

Lesley leaned against the table, arms crossed. “I used to be a hitwoman, Zoey. I was damn good at it. Until James found out who I really was. He dug into my past, uncovered my weaknesses, and the moment he found my mother…” Her voice cracked for a second before she composed herself. “He had her killed.”

I sucked in a breath.

She exhaled slowly. “That’s when I knew—I couldn’t keep doing this. I left that world behind, changed my name, and disappeared. Damon saved me, but I never stopped wanting revenge.”

Her eyes locked onto mine. “Now, we have the same enemy. So, tell me—are you ready to fight back?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

And that’s how it began.

Lesley trained me like a soldier.

At first, I struggled. My hands shook when I held a gun. My punches barely landed right. But she was ruthless. She didn’t go easy on me just because I was a woman who had suffered. If anything, she was harder on me.

“You can cry later,” she snapped one day when I failed to disarm her. “Right now, you fight.”

So I fought.

I pushed myself past the pain, past the exhaustion. I learned how to fire a gun without flinching, how to strike with precision, how to endure pain without breaking. Lesley taught me how to disappear, how to manipulate identities. She turned me into a ghost.

During those months, I let go of who I was. The weak, broken Zoey died.

And the woman left in her place?

She was ready to kill.

One evening, as Lesley and I sat in her office, finalizing the details of my new identity, something unexpected happened.

A notification popped up on Lesley’s laptop.

She frowned, clicking on it. A video file loaded. The screen flickered to life, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was Kate.

She was sitting in an expensive hotel suite, phone pressed to her ear.

Her voice was clear, cold, and unmistakable.

“Make sure it’s done properly,” she said. “The plane goes down, no survivors. Do you understand?”

My stomach twisted.

Lesley clicked another file. This time, it showed a man in an airport, slipping something into a maintenance panel of a private jet.

My parents’ jet.

I gripped the desk, my nails digging into the wood.

Kate.

My best friend. My sister in everything but blood.

She had murdered my parents.

A scream built in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t break now. I wouldn’t.

Lesley turned to me, her expression unreadable. “What do you want to do?”

I met her gaze, my voice steady.

“We burn her whole world down.”