Chapter 3: First Blood
954 Words
I am Evelyn Cross.
No, Not Vale.
Not yet.
Not ever.
If I have anything to say about it.
Adrian Vale married me because he believed he knew me. Because he thought he had already ruin me once, build me up, and left me unfinished.
He was wrong.
He didn’t create me.
He only taught and showed me where to aim.
By the third day after the wedding, the house finally stops pretending I’m a guest.
I wake before dawn, as always.
The mansion is quieter at this hour, but never silent. Guards rotate on a strict schedule. Cameras blink at regular intervals.
Doors unlock and relock with mechanical patience.
Everything here breathes order.
I walk the halls barefoot, dressed in silk, my movements slow and deliberate.
No one can stop me anymore. As they nod. They step aside. They let me pass.
Because in everyone's eyes.
I am Adrian’s wife.
A title that opens doors faster than guns.
By breakfast, I know which guard drinks too much coffee, which one favors his left leg, which one flinches at sudden noise.
Weakness is never loud.
It whispers.
He’s already seated when I enter the dining room, reading news like blood doesn’t stain half the pages.
“You’re up early again,” he says.
“I never did,” I reply.
A faint smile. Controlled. Measuring.
“You’re adjusting quickly.”
“That because I had a good teacher.”
That earns me a look.
Not anger.
Recognition.
We eat in silence.
I let him think I’m learning to belong.
I let him think wrong.
The first blood isn’t Adrian’s.
It can’t be.
Not yet.
Revenge isn’t a fire, it’s a disease, infection. It spreads slowly. Invisibly. By the time symptoms appear, it’s already hurt like hell.
And the man I choose is Marcus Hale.
Adrian’s logistics chief.
The one who signed the order that left me bleeding in an alley three years ago.
The one who laughed while telling Adrian, “She wouldn't survive the night.”
He was wrong.
So wrong.
Marcus doesn’t see me as a threat.
That’s the mistake men like him always make. The blindness what kills men like him.
At dinner that night, he drinks too much wine and talks too loudly, telling stories about old mission, victories, and bodies buried where no one cares anymore.
“Your wife's quiet,” he said to Adrian.
“You train her that way?”
Adrian’s hand tightens on his glass.
“I don’t train her,” he replies. “She adapts."
Marcus laughs. “She doesn’t look dangerous."
I smile sweetly.
“Neither do you,” I say.
The table goes quiet.
Adrian looks at me.
Interested.
Marcus only laughs again.
That's mark the end.
The estate hosts a small gathering that night. Not a party. A meeting disguised as one.
Men drink. Deals are made. Guards relax.
I move through the room like a shadow in silk.
Marcus corners me near the balcony.
“i never figured you’d come back,” he says, leaning too close. “I thought your dead.”
“So did I,” I reply calmly.
His smile falters—just a little.
“Adrian always like collecting broken things,” he says.
I tilt my head.
“You should be careful,” I tell him softly. “Broken things cut—it bleed."
He laughs.
I don’t.
I let him follow me outside.
The night air is cold. The city lights in the distance, unaware of what’s about to happen.
“You always were loyal,” Marcus says.
“I’ll give you that."
I turn slowly.
“I learned obedience from you,” I reply.
Recognition flashes across his face.
Too late.
---
I'm not comfortable with guns.
Guns are loud.
I use the knife I’ve been carrying since the day Adrian found me.
The blade slides between his neck with practiced ease.
Marcus gasps, hands grasping at my arms.
I lean close, my lips is in his ear.
“You should’ve made sure I was dead, and buried me properly.” I whisper.
I move.
Blood splashed.
Warm.
Real.
Red.
Marcus collapse, choking, eyes wide with disbelief.
I step back as he hits the ground.
First blood.
By the time the guards find him, I’m already back inside.
Calm.
Finished.
Adrian is across the room when the shouting starts.
Our eyes meet.
Something cold.
He knows.
Not how.
Not why.
But he knows this wasn’t random.
This was personal.
Later that night, Adrian enters the bedroom quietly.
“You were gone,” he says.
“So was Marcus,” I replied.
Silence.
Dangerous.
“You killed him,” Adrian says.
Not a question.
“I did"
A pause.
Then unexpectedly he laughs like hell.
Dark. Low.
“I wondered when did you start,” he says.
I stare at him.
“ Not angry?”
“I’m impressed,” he replies. “You chose well."
That should terrify me.
It doesn’t.
Adrian steps closer.
“You know what this means,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. “There’s no going back."
He smiles.
“Good.”
He reaches for my hand.
I didn’t ’t pull away.
Not now.
Because tonight had proven something important.
I can bleed his empire, watch its burn.
And he will let me—
Until he realizes I’m not just cutting branches.
I’m digging for the root that could calm my hand.
Later, alone, I wash the blood from my hands.
The water runs red, then clear.
I look at my reflection.
I don’t look away.
“First blood, freshly red” I whisper.
My name echoes back at me.
Evelyn Cross.
Alive.
Still dangerous.
And just getting started.
- Writer
