In love with an Assassin

The gala attack

Chapter 3: The Gala Attack

(Kevin’s POV)

The ballroom looked like a scene straight out of a magazine—crystal chandeliers, champagne flowing everywhere, and every table draped in luxurious silk. White Label had sponsored a part of the event, so I had to be there. I donned the mask everyone expected: tailored suit, confident stride, and that perfect smile. Cameras flashed, names were announced, and I navigated through the crowd, blending in like I belonged.

Julian Vance was already there, of course. My rival always found a way to make his presence known. He stood near the stage, glass of red wine in hand, that sharp smirk of his ready to cut. When he spotted me, his eyes narrowed just a bit.

“Kevin White,” he said as I closed in. “Still hogging the spotlight. Some of us actually put in the work for our recognition.”

I kept it light. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Julian.”

“Neither does arrogance,” he shot back, tilting his glass as if to toast me mockingly. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Crowns can slip.”

Before I could respond, he turned and strolled away. His words were meant to sting, but I kept my expression neutral. Guys like Julian thrived on getting a rise out of people. Inside, though, I could feel tension coiling up. He was way too confident—too sure of himself.

The night dragged on, filled with speeches and endless small talk. Investors crowded around, laughing too hard at jokes that weren’t even funny. I gave them the show they wanted, even as my patience wore thin.

Through it all, Isabella was nearby. She blended into the crowd so well that most people overlooked her, but I noticed. She stood tall, looking sharp, always scanning the room. No smiles, no drinks—she didn’t relax for even a moment. It felt like she belonged to another world entirely.

By the time the orchestra started its final set, I was ready to call it a night. I leaned in close to Isabella and quietly said, “We’re done here.” She nodded once, no questions asked.

We made our way toward the exit, the crowd parting for us as people greeted me along the way. I was almost at the door when it happened.

A man burst through the side entrance, moving too quickly for security to catch him. His hand shot up, catching the light with something metal. A gun.

Everything slowed down. Shouts erupted, people screamed, and chairs toppled over. For a split second, I froze. And then Isabella was there.

She moved with a precision I’d never witnessed before. Her arm locked onto the man’s wrist before he could aim, and with a quick twist, a c***k, the weapon hit the floor. She slammed him against the wall with a brutal efficiency, her movements sharp, practiced, deadly. The man tried to fight back, but she wrapped it up in seconds—a knee to his chest, an elbow to his jaw, and he crumpled at her feet.

The room fell silent except for the man’s groan. All eyes were on us. On her.

Security rushed in, late as usual, dragging him away. Guests whispered, clearly stunned. I stood there, heart racing, staring at the woman who had just saved my life.

Isabella’s breathing was steady, calm, as if nothing had happened. She adjusted her jacket and met my gaze. “We should leave,” she said.

Her tone was flat, controlled, but I could see the fire in her eyes. Not panic. Not fear—something else entirely.

I followed her to the car without saying a word. Inside, silence hung between us. I wanted to say something—to thank her, to demand answers. But none of it felt right.

When we pulled up to my estate, I finally broke the silence. “That wasn’t normal. You fight like someone who’s done this before.”

She glanced at me, her face unreadable. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“That wasn’t just protection,” I countered. “That was something different. Who are you, Isabella?”

She didn’t reply. Just turned her gaze to the window, her gray eyes catching the reflections of the passing streetlights.

I leaned back in my seat, a sense of unease washing over me. I was alive because of her, but the way she moved, the way she fought—it wasn’t just security training. It felt like something much darker. Something that didn’t belong in my world.

For the first time, it hit me that I didn’t really know the woman standing between me and death. And honestly, I wasn’t sure whether that made me feel safe—or terrified.