Ugly Killer To Pretty Housewife

Guns? Knives? Hand-to-hand combat? Hacking? Name it, and I’m sure I’ve already mastered it. Call it arrogance if you want. I’m just stating the facts. Not to brag, but I’m the number one assassin for hire. Perfect record. Zero failures. If there’s a job for me? Consider it done! No exceptions. I almost became the definition of perfection. Almost, because there’s one problem. My damned FACE! My body? Perfect, strong, fast. Built for killing. But my face? A disaster. One eye is slightly bigger than the other. My nose? Big and flat like it gave up halfway. Pimples that show up like they pay rent. My features? Perfectly asymmetrical. If faces had rankings, mine would be illegal. People don’t say anything. But I see it. I can feel it. That quick, judgmental look. That tiny pause. That “oh” before they look away. Sometimes I can’t help but ask, “What the heck is this face?” I don’t even know where I got this face either, because I don’t even know who my parents are. Good thing is, I don’t get paid to be pretty. I get paid to be deadly. And I am. Or at least, I was. The mission was supposed to be easy. Go in. Kill the target and go out. Done. Simple right? That’s what I thought. Then everything went wrong. A loud explosion. Fire everywhere. My ears are ringing like crazy. For a second, I thought, “So this is how I die.” Then everything went black. When I woke up, I knew something was off. First, I was alive. Second, my body is aching all over. Third, I was in a room, a plain white room to be exact. Suspicious. Where am I? I sat up slowly, looking around. The place wasn’t familiar at all. Then I saw a mirror. And yeah, of course, I looked. Big mistake. Because the moment I did, I froze. “What the f**k?!” I shouted. A beautiful girl was staring back at me. Clear skin. Perfect, innocent-looking face, like a Disney princess. Everything in the right place. No pimples. No weird angles. No “what went wrong here?” Just beautiful. I blinked once. Twice. The girl blinked too. “Who is that?” I muttered. I pointed at myself. She pointed too. “Wait.” I moved closer. Slowly. Carefully. “No way,” I gasped. I grabbed my face. She grabbed hers. Same timing. Same movement. Same face. “That’s me?” Excuse me?? Since when??? I turned left. She turned left. I turned right. She turned right. Still pretty. Annoyingly pretty. “What kind of dream is this?” Still me. Still pretty. Still not waking up. “Okay.” I took a deep breath. Think. Think like a professional. Either I’m dreaming. I died, and this is the afterlife. Or something is wrong with my eyes. I scanned the room, looking for an answer. Then I saw the folder on the table. Neat and clean. Like someone wanted me to open it. I picked it up. Inside were papers, photos, medical notes. And then I saw it. My face. No, I mean this face. “Veronica Hart” I muttered. Before and after pictures. Scan results. Surgery reports. All of it was written like I was not a person, but a project. How long am I sleeping? My eyes moved down slowly. Then I saw a name. Lead Surgeon: Dr. Ethan Lee I stopped. That name. I knew it. Not from hospitals. Not from normal life. But from my job. My last target. The man I was supposed to kill before the accident. Dr. Ethan Lee. High-level surgeon. Clean record. No bodyguards. No public enemies and insanely rich for whatever reason. According to my research, killing him is just a piece of cake. That’s why I accepted the mission without any questions. “Easy job,” they said. “Just remove him,” they said. No one told me the reason. Just a name and a price. And I accepted it. Because that’s what I do. I finish jobs. No exceptions. That was the plan. Until the explosion. My hand tightened on the folder. So this wasn’t just a random coincidence, was it? This wasn’t just me waking up with a new face. This was connected for sure. I looked back at the mirror. Still her. Still me. Still too perfect. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered. I flipped more pages and there it was. Emergency surgery notes. Critical injury. Severe damage. Life at risk. Then one line at the bottom: “Operation performed by Dr. Ethan Lee.” I stared at it for a long time. He saved me. The man I was sent to kill. My last target. I sat down slowly, thinking hard what to do next. “So I failed the job, for the first time in my life,” I muttered. That alone was rare. Almost impossible. But then it got worse. Because I didn’t just fail. I ended up in his hands, with a new face. Footsteps suddenly came from outside. I braced myself for a possible attack. Slow. Calm. Not rushed. Like the person knew exactly what they were doing. I didn’t move. I just looked at the door. Click. It opened. And he walked in. Tall, handsome man wearing a white coat with a name “Dr. Ethan Lee”. Calm face. No emotions. Just looking at me while walking my way. Like he expected me to be here. His eyes met mine. Then dropped to the folder in my hand. Then back to me again. “You’re awake,” he said. Simple and calm. No shock. No fear. No reaction. Like waking up a dead assassin was normal. I stood up properly. “So…” I said, watching him closely. “You’re my surgeon.” He didn’t answer. Silence filled the room. Then I said it. “And you’re also my last target.” Just for a second, I saw a sudden change in his facial expression. But I saw it. He heard me. And he knew exactly what I meant. “So tell me, Dr. Lee,” my voice stayed calm. “What happens when an assassin wakes up with the face you created ,after she was sent to kill you?”