Every passing day felt like a countdown to something inevitable. Damon and I had spent nights planning, going over every possible way to infiltrate James’ company. His electronics empire was massive, and if we wanted to uncover the truth and get the upper hand, we needed to get inside. That meant finding a way to work there—blending in, learning the ins and outs of the place.
The problem? Neither of us knew the first thing about repairing appliances.
So we found someone who did.
For weeks, we trained under an old technician who had no idea who we really were. Damon caught on quickly, his hands steady and precise, while I struggled at first, my frustration mounting with every mistake. But I had no choice—I had to learn. This was the only way.
When the day finally came to apply for jobs, I felt confident. That was until Damon stopped me outside the company gates.
“You can’t go in like that,” he muttered, scanning my face.
“What do you mean?” I frowned, adjusting my cap.
He let out a sigh. “Zoey, you were famous once. Even with your accident and everything that happened, people will recognize you. You need to disguise yourself.”
I hated that he was right.
Reluctantly, I bought a short, choppy wig that completely altered my look. My long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by something straight and dull. I changed my style, darkened my skin slightly with makeup, and even wore thick-rimmed glasses to make myself look like a completely different person. It was unsettling how easy it was to disappear behind a fake identity.
For a few days, it worked.
But then… I noticed something strange.
A man.
He was always nearby—too close for coincidence. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid, but then I saw him again. At a coffee shop. In the company cafeteria. Outside the dormitory we were renting.
I told Damon about him, and he immediately went on high alert. “Someone’s watching you,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to be careful.”
We were right to be worried.
A few nights later, my world shattered again.
It started with a single photo. One that spread like wildfire across social media. A blurry shot of me—disguised but still recognizable to those who knew me well. The caption made my stomach drop.
"Spotted: Is former singer Zoey back from the dead?"
Panic gripped me.
Who took this? Who posted it? Was it that obsessed fan? Or worse… James?
Damon and I packed our things that night, preparing to leave the city before James or his men could find us. But we weren’t fast enough.
As we stepped onto the quiet street, a van screeched to a halt in front of us. The doors swung open, and before I could react, figures in black masks lunged at me.
“Run!” Damon shouted, but it was too late.
I fought. I kicked, screamed, thrashed. But they were stronger.
The last thing I saw before darkness consumed me was James stepping out of the van, his face cold and unforgiving.
I woke up in a dimly lit room, my wrists bound, my body aching. My head throbbed from the rough handling, and my throat felt raw from screaming.
James sat across from me, twirling a knife between his fingers.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he mused, his voice calm, almost amused.
I glared at him. “Go to hell.”
His smirk widened. “Oh, Zoey. You’re already there.”
Days passed in agony. They didn’t kill me, but they made sure I suffered.
The beatings weren’t brutal, but they were enough to break my spirit little by little. The isolation. The psychological games. James was playing with me, waiting for me to crack.
But I wouldn’t.
I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Then, something unexpected happened.
One night, when I had given up hope of ever escaping, my door creaked open. I tensed, expecting another round of torment.
But it wasn’t James.
It was Kate.
She stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind her. Her expression was unreadable.
“Get up,” she whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
She pulled a knife from her boot and cut the rope binding my wrists. “I’m getting you out of here.”
I hesitated, confused. “Why are you helping me?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just move.”
Still weak, I followed her out, slipping through the shadows of the massive house I had been held in. Every corner, every hallway felt like a trap. But Kate knew the way. She led me to a back door, where a car was already waiting.
As I got in, I couldn’t help but look at her.
Was this some kind of trick?
She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “Don’t thank me,” she said, her voice cold. “Just disappear.”
After escaping, I tracked down Damon, who had somehow survived the ambush that night. He was hiding in a province with his wife, who had miraculously recovered from her illness.
I expected relief when I saw him. Instead, I felt a deep, unsettling fear.
Because standing beside him was someone I never thought I’d see again.
His wife, Lesley.
And I knew exactly who she was.
A hitwoman. One who had been hired to kill me.
I took a shaky step back. “Damon… what the hell is going on?”
Lesley, standing there with calm eyes and a knowing smirk, raised her hands in surrender.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her voice smooth. “But you don’t need to be afraid.”
I clenched my fists. “Why shouldn’t I be? You were paid to kill me.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “That was a long time ago. Things change.”
I didn’t believe her.
Not until she said something that made my blood run cold.
“I know who killed your parents.”
Everything stopped.
My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest.
“You… what?” I whispered.
Lesley’s smirk faded, replaced by something far more serious.
“I know the truth, Zoey. And if you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for this.
But I needed to know.
