Alessia Romano wasn't easily shaken — and she wasn't easily fooled.
By the next morning, the mysterious note hadn't left her thoughts. She'd read it more than once, tracing the ink as if it might whisper the truth. The handwriting was confident, familiar somehow, but she couldn't place where she'd seen it before.
Her instincts screamed this wasn't a threat. It was something worse — a message from someone who understood power.
And she didn't like being studied.
So she did what she did best — she set a trap.
Every night that week, she repeated her midnight walk, pretending to be lost in thought, pretending not to notice the faint movements that always seemed to linger at the edge of the estate walls.
But this time, she changed small details — the route, the timing, even the direction she turned her head. Tiny, deliberate differences designed to draw out whoever had been watching her.
Hidden cameras covered the pathways, her guards waited in blind spots, and she carried a second gun strapped to her thigh.
At exactly twelve-thirty, the wind shifted. That same quiet pressure in the air returned.
Someone was there.
Alessia slowed her pace, turning toward the fountain — the center of her trap. The shadows flickered at the edge of the garden, movement so faint it could've been imagination. She took one more step forward, whispering under her breath, "Got you."
The motion sensors triggered — the lights burst on — her guards moved in—
And nothing.
Empty air. No footprints, no sign of entry. The cameras recorded only stillness.
Her chest tightened, but not with fear — with fury. Whoever it was had known. Somehow, they had seen through every move she made.
When she returned to her study that night, another note was waiting for her on her desk — placed neatly, impossibly, inside a locked room.
"You're clever, Alessia. But next time, don't make it so easy to see the trap."
No signature. Just that same handwriting — calm, teasing, almost affectionate.
For the first time in a long time, Alessia felt something foreign stir beneath her armor — curiosity.
Whoever this person was, they knew her world, her habits, her mind. And they were bold enough to challenge her on her own territory.
She sat back in her chair, the note between her fingers, a cold smile curving her lips.
"You want a game?" she murmured softly. "Then you've found the right opponent."
Outside the estate, far beyond the reach of her cameras, a man watched the lights flicker through his scope, a small grin playing on his face.
He'd seen the trap.
He'd admired it.
But most of all — he admired her.