ISADORA’S POV

    “You look so beautiful, darling,” my mom said, her voice dripping with pride as I admired my reflection in the mirror.

    The sunlighting through the half–drawn curtains caught the shimmer of the fabric, making the gown seem almost alive with sparkles. The stitching at the waist fitted perfectly, highlighting my curves in a way that made me smile. For a moment, I forgot everything else and simply twirled slowly, watching the skirt ripple like water in the ss.

    Thank goodness the dress came in early this morning. I had been growing restless, checking my phone every hour, tracking the shipment as though my life depended on it. The thought of it arrivingte, maybe even after the entire ceremony, was a nightmare I refused to lete true.

    I’d ordered it just yesterday, a bold gamble considering the tight schedule. At least my friend Jessica had chipped in a bit of cash. She didn’t bdo /bit out bof /bpure kindness, I could tell from her tone she saw it as an Investment in gossip and drama she couldter brag about to her friends. Still, help was help. bI /bwas short on money, and without her, the dress wouldn’t be hanging on me inow/i.

    Of course, I hadn’t forgotten the time she refused to let me into her house a few weeks ago. This was the same girl who practically lived in my mansion when I was still with Adrian. She’d appear almost daily, lounging on my couch, sipping my wine, eating my snacks as if she owned the ce. Funny how loyalty changes when your status changes.

    Either way, my annoyance toward her had dulled. A contribution toward something as important as this was enough to buy her partial forgiveness- partial.

    “Thanks, Mom,” I replied with a small smile, shifting slightly so she could see the dress from another angle. She was perched on the edge of my bed,

    makeup brushes and palettes spread neatly across theforter.

    My mom, for all her faults, was undeniably skilled with makeup. She had the steady hand of a painter and an instinct for colors that made my features pop without looking overdone. I rarely let anyone touch my face, but with her, I didn’t have to worry.

    If only she had my beauty, then people might truly see her for more than her skills. My mother could transform someone else into a showstopper, but she herself never turned heads. Shecked the bone structure, the glow, the something extra that made people stop and stare. She had talent, yes, but talent without beauty was invisible in a city like this.

    Most women here had one or the other. Some were natural beauties who couldn’t blend foundation to save their lives. Others could contour a face like a professional artist but didn’t have much to work with. Rarely did anyone have both. I, however, was the exception – a fact I reminded myself bof /boften.

    “In my opinion,” my mom began as she set down a brush, “I think you could change out of this dress. I mean, it’s Olivia’s death you’re going to monitor, nothing important. The real person who deserves to see you in this dress is Adrian.”

    I turned sharply to face her, my brows narrowing. “So what, I should dress like a low–life to go to the ceremony? Are you forgetting they wouldn’t even let me in if I don’t dress well?” My tone had a bite to it, sharper than I intended, but I wasn’t in the mood for her opinions right now.

    She lifted her hands in surrender, the bracelets on her wrist clinking lightly. “Okay, okay,” she said, her voice softening. “It was just a thought.”

    I exhaled slowly, smoothing the fabric at my hip. “There are other beautiful dresses I can save up for and wear when I see my baby boo Adrian. This one bis /bfor today. First, I need toplete a job that’s long overdue.”

    My mother’s expression shifted, something darker passing over her eyes. “She’s had five whole years to enjoy and live,” she said quietly, almost as bif /bspeaking to herself. “So I think it’s time for her to leave this world for good.”

    I walked over to where my phone was lying. My heels clicked lightly on the floor, the sound echoing faintly bin /bbthe /botherwise quiet broom/bb. /bbI /bhad bbeen /bwaiting all morning for this. Waiting for that one message that would signal the start of something thad been bplotting /bbfor /blong

    The screen lit up just as I reached for it. A sharp buzz vibrated through my hand, and there it was the notification. bThe /bbassassin /bbhad /bbfinally /bbtexted /bbme/b.

    It was short. Just a location and two words: We’re here.

    I stared at the message for a brief second, ba /bsmirk curling on my lips. I had been expecting them to be punctualb, /bbbut /bthere bwas /bstill bsomething /bbsatisfying /b

    b1/3 /b

    about knowing that they were just outside, ready to move. They weren’t just my ride to the event, they were my executioners, bmy /binstruments of justice, or revenge, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

    Grabbing my small clutch, I took onest nce in the mirror. My gown was pristine. I had chosen this dress deliberately not because I wanted to look good for anyone in particr, but because appearances mattered. If I was going to be in the middle of this operation, I needed to blend in among bthe /bwealthy guests. I needed to look like I belonged there, like I was just another harmless attendee.

    With a careful breath, I headed outside.

    The van was parked discreetly a few buildings away, its tinted windows hiding whoever was inside. As Fapproached, the side door slid open bwith /ba bfaint /bmetallic sound. Inside, dim light illuminated unfamiliar faces four of them, all new. Their expressions were sharp, unreadable, but their eyes followed me as I climbed in.

    I made sure to lift the hem of my gown slightly, so it wouldn’t brush against the van’s dirty floor. No way was I letting an oil stain ruin this look. I settled into the seat in the back, my posture poised but my mind focused entirely on the task ahead.

    One of the men, tall, muscr, with a jagged scar cutting across his jaw, leaned forward slightly. “You look good,” he said, his tone almost casualb, /bbthough /bhis eyes were assessing me like I was just another part of the equipment for this job. “Nowi, /isince you’ve idecided /ito monitor our work, you’re bgonna /bbe our eyes in there. You’re going to let us know the perfect time toe in.”

    Before I could even reply, he reached into a small ck bag at his side and pulled out a thin wire. My brows furrowed. He stepped closer, hisrge hands surprisingly precise as he began fastening it into the side seam of my dress. It was small, almost invisible mic, clearly meant for me to feed them information without raising suspicion.

    “Your eyes?” I repeated with a slight tilt of my head. “I thought you said the crowd wasn’t much, so why can’t you guys just storm into the ce?”

    The man let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head like I was being na?ve. “This is not the first time we’ve done this,” he said. “The experience is there. bWe /bbasically know how these people think, especially when they’re rich. The target’s gonna have security on her at all times obviously. She’s not stupid. She wouldn’t want what happenedst time to happen again. That means getting close is tricky.”

    He adjusted the wire again, then locked eyes with me. “You’re going to be our eyes. When she climbs up the stage probably to wee everyone or give some boring speech you let us know. That’ll be the best time. She’ll be farthest from her security, exposed enough for us to make a move.”

    I exhaled slowly, crossing my legs as I looked him straight in the eye. “Whatever. I’ll do my part. Just make sure you guys get your side done… perfectly this time.” My voice was calm, but there was an edge to it a reminder that failure was not an option.

    “Understood,” he said simply, before turning his attention to two other men sitting across from us.

    “You two,i” /ihe began, ipointing /iat them with a gloved hand, “you’re going up through the vents. Once you’re in, you round up all the doors and keep every civilian inside the building contained. No one leaves. Not a single one.” His tone was sharp, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

    The two men nodded, their expressions hardened with focus.

    you want bto /bget past them?” I asked curious, I did not think bof /bthat part and since

    “And what about her security, they would obviously be armed, how do y he never mentioned it I just wanted to confirm that they had it under control.

    “We have a n for them, there’s no need to worry, once she’s on the stage, they bwon’t /bbe a problem.” He said to me then turned his attention back to

    them

    “When we’re in,” the leader continued, “the first thing we do is get all their phones, jewelry, and cash. Once the valuables bare /bbsecured/b, bwe /bkill bthe /btarget. Quickb, /bcleanb, /bno hesitation. Then we leave before the cops show up. The whole thing will take minutes if we do it right”

    The van was silent for a moment, the only sound being the faint hum iof /ithe engine.

    “Okay?” he asked finally.

    “Yeah,” they all echoed, their voices blending into one lowb, /bunified answer.

    All except me. I didn’t speak. My silence wasn’t disinterest, it was control. I wasn’t one bof /bbthem/b. I bwasn’t /bhere bto /bbfollow /bbtheir /borders, I bwas /bbhere /bbto /bbmake /b

    b19:10 /bTue, 19 Aug

    sure they followed through on mine. All I cared about was that this time, they actually got the job done.