Episode 1: The Contract
The file on the table had one name circled in red.
OCTAVIAN, V. — HEIR. ELIMINATE BEFORE FULL MOON.
My hands didn't shake. They never do. Not when I have a gun, not when I have a knife. Not after seven years in this business.
But that name made my blood run cold.
"Do you take it?" The Broker asked, smoke curling from his cigarette.
"It's double. Half a million. No one else wants to touch Octavian. They say the heir is a devil in a white shirt."
I should have said no. My rule was simple: never take a job without knowing the face.
But my sister's debt was due. And half a million meant she could finally leave this life.
"I'll take it," I said.
I signed it. Nancy Lauren.

Two years ago, I left a man I loved in a tiny college apartment in Sydney.
His name was Venerio. My Ver. Poor, gentle, studying law, laughing at my burnt pasta. The kind of man who thought the world could be saved.
I left him because I got my first kill contract that week. It was messy, dangerous, and I knew if I stayed, my world would swallow him. So I packed while he was in class. Left cash on the table for rent. Left a note that said: "Don't look for me."
I never told him what I was.
I never knew what he was, either.
The Octavian mansion was supposed to be impossible to breach. Three gates, motion sensors, guards who used to be special forces.
I got through in 12 minutes. Black suit, mask, no scent. The way I was taught.
The garden was quiet. Too quiet. Roses everywhere, even in October. Wet stone. The scent of rain that hadn't fallen yet.
And then I slipped.
A stupid, rookie mistake. My boot hit the wet edge and I went down, right into the thorns.
The floodlights snapped on.
I froze, hand on my knife, heart hammering so loud I was sure the cameras could hear it.
Then a voice. Low. Too familiar. A voice I had heard in my dreams for two years.
"Don't move."
I looked up.
White shirt. Rolled sleeves. A sword tattoo winding up his forearm, black ink bleeding into his skin — the mark only the head of Octavian wears. The mark of a leader. Of a monster.
His face was sharper. Colder. But his eyes... his eyes were the same.
Venerio.
My Ver was standing over me in the garden of the family I was sent to kill. And he was looking at me like he was looking at a ghost.
I ripped my mask down, scrambling back. "Venerio?"
His expression didn't change. He knelt, slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal. He didn't call the guards.
He reached out and pulled my mask off completely.
For a second, the Octavian heir disappeared. And it was just my college boyfriend again, staring at the girl who left him.
"Lauren," he whispered. And my name in his mouth sounded like an accusation. And a prayer.
I was trembling. Not from fear.
"I... I didn't know it was you," I choked out. "I swear, Venerio, I didn't—"
"You left me," he said, voice flat. "With cash for rent. Like I was a client."
Before I could answer, he leaned in. His lips brushed my neck, right over my pulse. A kiss so light it burned. A brand.
"3 days," he murmured against my skin, his hand fisting in my hair to keep me from running.
"You have 3 days to come back and explain why you're in my house, in black, with a knife, trying to kill me. If you don't... I will come find you. Even if I have to burn the whole underground to do it. Do you understand me, Nancy?"
I couldn't breathe. The knife was still at my thigh. His guards were 30 seconds away. The Syndicate would kill my sister if I failed.
But all I could hear was him.
"Do you understand me?" he repeated, softer this time. Almost begging.
I nodded, tears finally spilling over.
He let go. Stood up. And looked away.
"Go. Before I change my mind and lock you in this garden forever."
I ran.
I didn't stop running until I was three suburbs away, sobbing in my old hoodie — his old hoodie — that I never returned.
I had 3 days.
