Chapter 4: Classified 001, The Internet Explodes
1359 Words
He was coming faster than she anticipated.
Aria leaned against the window frame, her thumb absently tracing the sharp edges of the Crimson Blood Garnet hidden in her pendant.
Dante Voss. The man was cold, relentless, and had spent the last three years hunting her across the globe like a bloodhound. Right now, he was screaming up the mountain road toward the Kane Estate.
But there was one thing his high-level clearance would never show him.
He and she actually worked for the same flag.
He was the "Sword"—the Commander of the North Atlantic Joint Task Force, operating in the blinding light of military glory.
She was the "Ghost"—Agent 001, the highest-classified asset in the Central Intelligence Bureau, operating in the absolute pitch-black of state secrets.
Fox Shadow, The Faceless Thief, Hacker Zero... those were just masks.
The real Aria was a phantom. Even the Director of the CIB had only ever heard her voice through an encrypted modulator. Her files didn't just have a 'Top Secret' stamp; they were a black hole in the national archives.
Dante? He didn't even have the clearance to view her index number.
Aria swiped her tongue across her lower lip, a predatory glint in her eyes.
“Let’s play a game, Reaper.”
“I wonder... when you finally find out who I am, will that icy ‘Soldier of God’ persona of yours finally c***k?”
Her communicator hummed on the nightstand.
[OCTOPUS]: Boss, red alert. The Voss family is the oldest military dynasty in Veraine. Their status dwarfs the Kanes. But here’s the kicker: Decades ago, the Voss patriarch owed Charles Sr. a life-debt.
[OCTOPUS]: I’m betting my last bitcoin that your ‘homecoming’ is going to put you on a direct collision course with Dante. Watch your back. He’s not just a hunter; he’s the harbinger of death.
Aria narrowed her eyes.
Of course. No wonder he had tracked her DNA signature to this zip code so quickly. He wasn't just following a thief; he was coming home.
Dinner Time at the Kane Manor.
The Kanes lived by a code of archaic, suffocating tradition. Rule Number One: All members must be present for dinner. It was a law written in stone by Charles Sr.
As soon as Aria took her seat, Eleanor placed a tender piece of braised beef into her bowl. “Aria, darling, I remembered this was your favorite when you were a baby. Taste it. Tell me if it’s how you remember.”
Richard smiled warmly, adding, “Your mother spent all afternoon in the kitchen. If there’s anything else you crave, just name it. The chef is at your disposal.”
CLATTER.
The patriarch slammed his silverware onto the table. His face was a thundercloud, but for once, he kept his mouth shut.
Aria arched a brow. It seemed her parents had already had a 'talk' with the old lion.
Richard cleared his throat. “Aria, we’ve spoken with your grandfather. In three days, we are throwing a grand masquerade gala in your honor.”
“The entire Veraine high society will be there,” Eleanor said, her eyes shimmering with pride. “We are officially announcing to the world: The second daughter of House Kane has returned.”
Aria gave a curt, bored nod.
A shallow social circus? She’d rather be waterboarded. But if it made her parents happy... she could play the part of the porcelain doll for one night.
“Hmph,” Charles Sr. grunted. “She doesn't know the first thing about etiquette. She’ll probably try to eat her steak with her fingers. It’s an embarrassment!”
“Father!” Eleanor cut in. “We’ve already enrolled Aria in the Arcadia Academy starting tomorrow morning.”
The Arcadia Academy. The Harvard of finishing schools.
It didn't just teach tea-pouring and ballroom dancing. It was an elite training ground for the daughters of the 1%. They taught Krav Maga, trauma medicine, tactical shooting, and even cryptology alongside French literature.
Isabella was the academy’s "Golden Graduate."
“We’ll see if she lasts a day,” the patriarch muttered.
Isabella just turned her head away, her expression one of pure, unadulterated disgust.
After dinner, Aria retreated to her room.
Between London and the flight, she hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Her nerves were frayed, her muscles aching for a blackout sleep. But the moment she pushed her door open—
Fast, frantic footsteps echoed behind her.
Aria’s instincts flared. Her hand went to the small of her back, reaching for a blade that wasn't there. She spun around, her eyes cold enough to freeze blood.
It was Isabella.
She slammed her hand against the doorframe, blocking Aria from closing it. Her eyes were bloodshot, her chest heaving with rage.
“I saw it!” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Stop playing the innocent victim!”
Aria tilted her head. “Saw what, sister?”
“The headline on Gossip Vault from last year!” Isabella thrust her phone toward Aria’s face. “The photos of you in Eurasia, walking into a penthouse with that bald arms dealer, Mikhail Volkov! The comments are calling you his ‘private pet.’ A high-end escort who trades her body for intel!”
She stepped closer, her voice rising to a shrill peak. “You’ll do anything for money, won't you? God, you’re disgusting. Did you bring some kind of disease into this house? You make me want to gag.”
Aria blinked.
Oh. She remembered that.
Last year’s mission. Mikhail Volkov was a Tier-1 target. The mission was time-sensitive; she didn't have time for a mask. she used her real face to get close and neutralized him in his suite.
She hadn't realized a paparazzo had snapped a photo of her entering the hotel. In the tabloid world, she was just another 'trophy mistress.'
And now, that photo was Isabella’s weapon.
Aria found it almost hilarious. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression lazily mocking.
“So you found my scrapbook. And?”
“And?!” Isabella was shaking with fury. “You don't even have the decency to be ashamed?!”
“Ashamed?” Aria let out a soft, melodic laugh. “Why would I be ashamed of doing my job?”
She couldn't explain, of course. She couldn't tell her that it was a state-sanctioned execution. If she blew her cover, her parents would become targets. So, she chose to poke the bear instead.
Isabella’s nails dug into her palms. “Fine! Aria Kane... you just wait.”
She leaned in, her voice a poisonous vow.
“I’m going to dig up every piece of filth in your past. What you did in the Rust Quarter, who you slept with in Eurasia, your prison records, the blood on your hands...”
“I’m going to make sure everyone in Veraine knows the truth—that you aren't a lady.”
“You’re a parasite. A dirty, lying pretender.”
Aria watched her silently, then smiled. It was the kind of smile that preceded a m******e.
“Dig all you want, Isabella,” she whispered.
She stepped forward, her breath ghosting over Isabella’s ear, sending a chill down the other girl's spine.
“But be careful, darling... some truths have teeth.”
SLAM.
Aria closed the door and locked it. Outside, Isabella stood frozen, her heart racing like a trapped bird.
Inside, Aria walked to her vanity and pulled a micro-projector from a drawer. She flicked it on.
Glowing blue screens hovered in the air, scrolling through real-time global feeds:
[BREAKING]: Mystery girl spotted at Kane Manor! Is the lost heiress back?
[DEEP DIVE]: Crimson Blood Garnet heist linked to new Kane family member?
[EXCLUSIVE]: Anonymous tip: 'Aria' seen at the scene of Eurasian arms dealer's death!
Aria smirked and shut down the projection.
“Go ahead, Isabella. Show me how much ‘truth’ you can handle.”
She turned to the window. In the darkness below, a matte-black SUV had just pulled up to the iron gates of the estate.
“Welcome home, Reaper.”
- Writer
