Chapter 6
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The car drove through the night.
City lights faded behind us, replaced by endless darkness.
No destination was announced.
No questions were asked.
I leaned against the window, watching my former world disappear bit by bit.
At dawn, the vehicle finally stopped.
Before me stood a heavily guarded private compound hidden deep within the mountains.
Steel gates slowly opened.
Inside was an entirely different world.
Helicopters rested on landing pads.
Elite armed units patrolled the perimeter.
Advanced laboratories and training facilities stretched as far as the eye could see.
This place did not exist on any official map.
“You’ll stay here for the next six months,” the man said calmly as he stepped out.
His name was Lucien Black.
The most feared underground strategist.
The man whose single command could shift political power, collapse military structures, and rewrite entire intelligence systems.
And he was Seraphina’s elder brother.
Or rather—
Her enemy.
“You want revenge,” Lucien continued. “Then you must be reborn.”
For the next six months, my life became hell.
Every day began before dawn.
Combat training.
Firearms mastery.
Tactical strategy.
Psychological warfare.
Survival conditioning.
Medical endurance.
There was no mercy.
No shortcuts.
No excuses.
If I collapsed, I was dragged back onto my feet.
If I hesitated, punishment followed.
My body was pushed beyond its limits again and again.
But pain no longer scared me.
Because nothing hurt more than betrayal.
Slowly, I changed.
My movements became sharper.
My instincts deadlier.
My presence colder.
The girl who once believed in love vanished completely.
By the sixth month, even elite instructors avoided my gaze.
One night, Lucien handed me a folder.
“Your new identity.”
I opened it.
**Name:** Iris Black
**Age:** 26
**Occupation:** Strategic Consultant, Black Syndicate
**Security Level:** Top Clearance
Inside were flawless records, certifications, and global credentials.
No trace of Aurelia Voss remained.
From that moment on—
She was officially dead.
“Tomorrow,” Lucien said quietly, “you return.”
My fingers tightened around the file.
Return.
To the battlefield that had buried me alive.
---
Three days later, the military district buzzed with unprecedented tension.
A mysterious international strategic delegation had arrived.
Their leader—
**Iris Black.**
Rumors spread like wildfire.
“She’s a legend.”
“She negotiates wars and ends regimes.”
“They say even national leaders kneel before her.”
No one knew her face.
No one knew her past.
Inside the conference hall, generals and officials sat rigidly.
When the doors finally opened, silence fell instantly.
I stepped inside.
Black suit.
Sharp heels.
Hair pulled into a clean high ponytail.
My gaze swept calmly across the room.
And then—
It landed on him.
Adrian Cross.
His fingers froze mid-motion.
His pupils shrank.
His breath hitched for half a second.
Only half a second.
But it was enough.
He recognized me.
I walked forward slowly, every step deliberate.
“General Cross,” I said coolly, extending my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
His throat tightened.
After a brief pause, he shook my hand.
“Likewise… Miss Black.”
His palm was cold.
His grip uncertain.
The meeting proceeded.
Military restructuring.
Border strategy.
Arms distribution.
Psychological warfare defense.
I dismantled every proposal he made.
Cleanly.
Logically.
Mercilessly.
By the end, the entire high command looked shaken.
When the session concluded, Adrian finally spoke privately.
“Miss Black,” he said carefully, “you resemble someone I once knew.”
I smiled faintly.
“Then she must have been unforgettable.”
His gaze deepened.
“May I invite you to dinner?”
“Of course.”
That night, I sat across from him in a candlelit private dining hall.
He studied my face endlessly.
Trying to find traces.
Trying to confirm impossible hope.
“Do you believe in rebirth?” I asked softly.
He paused. “No.”
“Then what do you believe in?”
He met my eyes. “Regret.”
For a brief moment—
Something cracked.
But I had no intention of giving him mercy.
Because regret is meaningless when the damage is irreversible.
I lifted my wine glass.
“To new beginnings,” I said calmly.
He raised his glass after a moment.
“To fate.”
I smiled.
Fate?
No.
This time—
I was the one holding the knife.
---
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