Untitled Episode
1455 Words
Cynthia POV
“Natasha Alderson, do you take Demetrius Shipp as your lawfully wedded husband? "To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
I clenched my fingers so tightly that my nails dug into my palm, sharp enough to draw blood. Even through the delicate lace of my veil, I could see how happy she looked. How radiant. How smug.
The golden princess in her perfect white gown, lace and crystals shimmering under the soft glow of the chandeliers. A delicate tiara perched on her carefully styled blonde curls. She looked like a dream.
I couldn’t help but wonder how beautiful that gown would look stained with blood.
Taking a deep breath, I fought the urge to storm down the aisle and put an end to this sham of a marriage. And it was a sham—because Demetrius was mine. He has always been mine.
But Natasha? She could never stand seeing something in my hands without wanting to rip it away.
Back in high school, she was the queen bee—beautiful, sexy, untouchable—while I was the shy, nerdy girl with the oversized glasses, the ugly duckling in her shadow.
No one ever noticed me. No one except Demetrius. He made me feel seen. He made me feel beautiful. Although I never confessed my feelings to him. It was as noticeable as the sun.
We continued that way for almost a year before I left for Paris to study. I saw the way Natasha batted her lashes at him, how she pretended to need his help, despite being the smartest girl in the room.
But I was too timid to call her out. I thought the distance would make me forget everything and dull the pain.
But the moment I was gone, she sank her claws into him.
And Paris? Paris changed everything.
I was kidnapped in Paris by a human trafficking ring and dragged into a nightmare I never saw coming. I thought I was going to die—or worse.
But then Dawn came. She wasn’t just a savior; she was a soldier in the shadows, part of an underground organization that rescues people like me. She pulled me out and gave me my freedom back.
But survival came with a price. The organization didn’t just save me; they shaped me. They trained me. I became a weapon, honed for one purpose—to make sure no one else suffered the way I did.
That’s when they told me the truth: seven people were responsible for what happened to me. Seven names. Seven targets.
Now, I have a mission. This isn’t just revenge. It’s justice. If I don’t stop them, more girls like me will be taken. I won’t let that happen. They stole my innocence. I’ll be the last face they see before I take everything from them.
Now, I’m something else entirely. A trained Lolita assassin. I wasn’t even supposed to be here.
Not at this wedding. Not in this city.
“You need to come home immediately.
The call had come out of nowhere. No explanation, no warmth. Just a cold demand. And like a fool, I obeyed.
I arrived last night, barely through the front door, before my entire world unraveled.
“You’re not our biological daughter.”
The words had hit harder than any bullet.
The only family I had ever known—the people I had spent my whole life trying to be enough for—had lied to me from the start. I wasn’t an Alderson. I wasn’t theirs. I was just a stranger they raised out of obligation.
I barely had time to process the betrayal before the next blow came.
“Natasha is getting married tomorrow.”
To Demetrius.
To my Demetrius.
Now, standing here, watching her beam at my Demetrius, I could almost laugh.
First, they took my identity.
Now, she had taken him.
My fingers curled into a fist. My heart pounded.
But soon… she’d lose everything.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
The priest’s words made my body lurch forward, my resolve snapping like a frayed wire. I took two steps, ready to burn this farce to the ground—
“Your target has been confirmed.”
The voice in my earpiece stopped me cold.
I cast one last glance at the altar, at my sister clinging to my man, and swallowed the fury burning my throat. This marriage would end. But not today.
For now, I had a man to kill.
And oh, how I would enjoy watching the life drain from his body.
Slipping away unnoticed, I made my way to the back of the venue, where my real identity waited.
I shed the pastel dress, replacing it with a black, form-fitting jumpsuit. A mask covered my face, a cap pulled low over my head. Black canvas shoes. Gloves. The finishing touch—a gun, cold against the small of my back.
Then I pulled out my book.
Flipping it open, I found the name written in smooth, deliberate strokes.
Mr. John
.
The telecom in my cap crackled to life, the secure imported device hidden within its lining. I tapped it twice.
“Where are you?” My best friend’s voice filtered through.
“On my first mission,” I replied, my voice steady against the rush of the wind as I sped through the empty streets.
“Good luck, don’t miss your shot,” he teased, mocking lacing in his tone.
“Luck is for the weak,” I shot back. We both know how tough I am. I’ve never missed a shot, and I won’t start now.”
Without another word, I cut the line.
The night air was cold, but my blood burned with the promise of vengeance.
I reached my destination—a sleek, modern house in the suburbs. No guards. No alarms. Arrogant bastard. He thought he was untouchable.
I parked my bike in the shadows, pulling out my rope shooters. One precise shot secured the line, and I swung up, slipping through the open balcony door like a ghost.
Inside, the house was eerily silent. I moved through the dimly lit hallways, each step calculated, each breath measured. I knew exactly where he would be.
And I was right.
John Deere stood in his bedroom, peeling off his suit jacket, oblivious to the shadow of death standing in his doorway.
I leaned against the frame, the cool metal of my gun tapping lightly against my palm.
Then, I cleared my throat.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned, his eyes widening as his watch slipped from his hand and clattered onto the floor. His gaze flickered between me and the gun, panic setting in.
“Wh…wh…who are you?” he stammered, his voice trembling.
I tilted my head, amused by his fear. Funny. A man who had caused so much suffering was now reduced to a stuttering mess.
“Answer this instead—does the name Stephanie Jones ring a bell?” My voice was cold, merciless.
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Who—?”
“Always the evil ones pretending to be dumb,” I interrupted, my tone leaving no room for argument.
His breath hitched.
Then, ever so slightly, he shifted backwards—toward his desk.
I smirked. So predictable.
“You think I’m dumb, tell me where the rest of your organization members are?” I let out a dark chuckle, raising my gun. “Make another move, and it’ll be your last.”
But fear makes men reckless.
He lunged for the drawer.
I didn’t hesitate.
Eight precise shots tore into his chest before he could even wrap his fingers around the gun. The force sent him staggering back, blood splattering against the pristine walls. His body crumpled, knees hitting the ground.
His lips parted, struggling to form words, but all that came out was a weak, choked gasp.
I stepped forward, pressing the barrel to his forehead. No loose ends.
“Who—”
Bang.
The final shot silenced him forever.
I crouched beside his lifeless body, slipping a note onto his chest.
One down. Six to go. And then an entire family was destroyed.
They all toyed with me. That was their biggest mistake.
I turned, walking away without a glance back. As I swung onto my bike and sped into the night, a single thought burned in my mind:
“I’m Cynthia and I will take their dawn away and leave them drowning in darkness. And I won’t just watch—I’ll revel in it.”
This was just the beginning.
- Writer
