To kill or To love

Chapter 8 Shadows at Home

The ride home was quiet. Too quiet. The city outside my tinted windows looked calm, but calm has always been the mask of violence. My driver kept his eyes on the road, careful, steady. I didn’t need to tell him to avoid the main route. He knew. We changed directions three times before reaching the estate gates.

When I stepped out, the night air felt heavier.

I walked through the marble entrance hall, the click of my heels echoing faintly. The staff lined the corridor as usual, bowing slightly before scattering back to their duties. My eyes moved over them once, memorizing posture, breath, hesitation. All familiar faces—except one.

A new cleaner.

She was young, too young for this house. Her uniform was crisp, but her hands shook slightly as she arranged the flowers in the corner vase. She didn’t look at me directly. When she bowed, her eyes stayed down too long, lips pressed too tight.

Suspicious.

I didn’t stop walking. My face stayed cold, unreadable, but my mind filed every detail away.

Nervous. Untrained. Wrong placement. Not one of mine.

By the time I reached my study, I already knew. Someone had sent her.

---

I poured myself a glass of water, watching the reflection in the polished glass desk. Through the mirror’s edge, I could see her moving slowly past the doorway, pretending to dust the frames.

She’s not here to clean.

I set the glass down and unlocked my hidden console. Screens lit the room in pale blue light, code flowing faster than her shaky movements outside.

A priority alert blinked on the corner of the screen. Mission request. Time-sensitive. Berlin.

Of course.

I didn’t answer immediately. I liked making them wait.

Instead, I checked the house cameras. Every corridor, every entry point.

That’s when I saw it—another shadow. Not the cleaner. This one was sharper, slipping through the servant’s hallway, avoiding cameras as though he knew exactly where they were.

Two players. One distraction. One real move.

Predictable.

---

I stood, smoothing the black jacket I’d thrown over my shoulders. The “cleaner” was still outside, too focused on pretending to dust to notice that I was watching her reflection in the glass.

I didn’t confront her. Not yet.

I wanted to see how long she’d play the part.

---

The balcony doors were slightly open, the curtains breathing with the night air. I stepped out quietly, scanning the dark garden below.

And there he was.

Ethan .

Not the black-haired stranger tonight. His real self—silver hair catching the moonlight, icy blue eyes lifted toward my window like he had been waiting.

He wasn’t trying to sneak this time. He wanted me to see him.

He raised his hand slightly, like a casual greeting, like we were just two neighbors acknowledging each other.

I didn’t move.

Testing me, I thought. Seeing if I react. He wants to know if I’m shaken.

I let the curtain fall back into place and turned away, leaving him staring at nothing.

---

Elsewhere, the camera turned.

My father sat in his private study, half-drunk, glass of whiskey trembling in his hand. His face was red with anger as he barked into the phone. “She won’t last. She’s too reckless. If she dies, the company dies with her. Do you want that?”

But his words were lies. He didn’t care if the company fell, as long as it fell with me buried under it.

My uncle was quieter. In a dimly lit room, he spoke to someone I couldn’t see. His tone was calm, persuasive. “Patience. She will trip on her own blade. We only need to push her close to the edge.”

And my brother… my foolish brother… lounged with friends in a velvet booth, drunk on money that wasn’t even his. He laughed loudly, mocking my name as though it made him stronger. “She thinks she’s untouchable. Let her think that. She’ll fall harder when the ground gives way.”

They didn’t know I was watching. Always watching.

---

Back in the study, I walked past the “cleaner.” She flinched when I stopped in front of her.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice calm but sharp.

Her eyes darted. “C—Clara, miss.”

Lie, I thought instantly. Her pupils contracted, her fingers twisted the cloth in her hand.

I leaned in slightly, close enough for her to hear the cold edge in my voice. “Cleaners don’t lie. Remember that.”

Her face drained of color. She bowed quickly and scurried off, almost tripping over herself.

I let her go. For now.

---

The real intruder moved faster now, slipping toward the west wing. I could almost hear his steps in my head. He wasn’t sloppy, but he wasn’t perfect either. Too confident.

I pressed the earpiece hidden in my jacket. “Track guest two, west wing. No interference unless I say.”

My private security—silent shadows of my own—shifted into motion.

The game had only just begun.

---

My phone buzzed again. The mission alert, blinking insistently.

I opened it this time. A single encrypted line appeared: Berlin .Target. politician. Priority one .

A new mission . It's time to put on a new mask .

I almost smiled. Fate had a sense of humor.

---

I sat back in my chair, fingers steepled, mind cataloguing every piece.

Cleaner—distraction.

Intruder—probe.

Ethan—observer.

Family—hunters circling in the dark.

Mission—Berlin.

So many predators.

But predators are easiest to catch when they think they’re hunting.

And I had no intention of being prey.

---

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I stayed awake, screens glowing around me, tracing lines of code, watching shadows move on security feeds, feeling Ethan’s eyes somewhere in the night.

I let them all think they were winning.

Because they didn’t know the truth.

They were already in my game.

And no one wins but me.