The Assassin's vow

Julian Morton was the kind of man who smiled while cutting your throat and expected you to thank him for the privilege.

He owned real estate portfolios across Europe, sat on the boards of five multinational corporations, and ran a quiet side business selling state secrets to the highest bidder. To the public, he was a philanthropic tycoon. To those in the Circle, he was an enforcer. A message. A warning.

And he was Iris's next target.

We planned it for days. Surveillance. Blueprints. Guest lists. His daughter, Melanie Morton was hosting a charity gala at their Paris estate. All the elites would be there. Cameras. Security. Smiles hiding poison.

Iris wanted to go in loud.

I didn't.

"We can't afford to be reckless," I told her.

"You think the Circle plays fair?" she snapped.

"No. But I play smart."

We compromised.

She'd cause the distraction.

I'd make the kill.

Melanie Morton flawless, arrogant, and lethal in heels. Melanie was her father's daughter in every way except one. She believed she deserved the empire, not inherit it. She ran the Morton estate like a fortress. If she sensed even a flicker of threat, she'd burn the whole city to the ground.

I needed her to like me.

Which meant becoming her.

The night of the gala, I wore red.

Not just any red. Blood red.

Backless, slit to the thigh, diamonds at my ears. Iris watched me from across the street as I stepped out of the town car.

"You sure you want to do this alone?" she asked through the comm.

"I'm not alone," I whispered. "You've got the back door, remember?"

"Copy that. Try not to fall for the girl."

I smiled. "Not my type."

"Shame," she said, and cut the feed.

Inside, the room was dripping with wealth. Crystal chandeliers, live orchestra, too much perfume.

I moved through the crowd like silk.

Melanie spotted me instantly.

"I don't know you," she said.

"I'm new. Ava Monroe."

"Ah. The Vanguard girl."

She clinked her glass against mine. "You've got presence."

I smiled. "So do you."

Ten minutes later, she was laughing.

Fifteen minutes, she was showing me the upper floors.

Twenty, and I was inside Julian's private study.

The study was a cathedral of ego. Gold-trimmed bookshelves, framed photographs with presidents and popes, a massive oil portrait of himself towering above the fireplace. It smelled of leather, aged wood, and smoke.

He was alone.

Sipping scotch. Watching the gala from a balcony monitor.

"You must be Ava," he said without turning.

My blade was already out.

He chuckled. "I was wondering how long it would take one of you to come."

"Iris would've made it hurt," I said.

He nodded. "But you? You're her opposite. Surgical. Precise."

"I'm a promise kept."

He turned.

And I stabbed him clean, through the heart.

His mouth opened. Closed. The glass fell.

He dropped.

I whispered, "That's for her mother."

But I didn't leave right away.

I scanned the room for intel papers, drives, clues. I found a small lockbox beneath a drawer, engraved with a crescent moon.

Inside: a USB stick, an old Polaroid, and a list of codenames.

One of them: Dagger - Iris

Another: Eclipse -Ava

My breath caught.

They knew.

They'd always known.

I slipped out the side door just as Iris triggered the fire alarm.

Smoke grenades hissed in the courtyard. Guests screamed. Sirens howled in the distance.

We melted into the Paris night, blood behind us, stars overhead.

Melanie watched Ava disappear into the shadows like smoke. A beautiful lie. And Melanie wasn't stupid. That wasn't some debutante. That was a predator. And predators… come back.

She turned to a security aide. "Get me every frame of her face. Every guest she spoke to. I want her name, her school, and her blood type on my desk by midnight."

The aide nodded and vanished.

Melanie smiled.

Because the game had just begun.

Three down.

Five to go.

And now the Circle was bleeding.

Let them bleed more.