This guy's audacity and cocky attitude completely floored me. My curiosity won out, and I clicked on his profile picture.
The setting had that unmistakable hospital feel - antiseptic, frigid, and medical.
Some guy was lounging on a bed, his head thrown back like he was modeling for a shoot.
Blonde hair, striking nose, skin so ghostly pale it looked like he'd been locked away from sunlight forever. Those peachy eyes sparkled with this hazy, dreamlike quality.
A sliver of sunlight snuck through the blinds, catching him perfectly - one side of his face illuminated, the other shrouded in darkness. The light made his hair gleam golden at the tips.
The entire image had this moody, filtered social media aesthetic.
If I hadn't already researched Dominic thoroughly, this picture's appeal might have totally fooled me.
I mulled it over briefly before finally clicking "accept."
Dominic: [Hey, what's good?]
I stayed silent, letting him wait.
——
Dominic's POV
At an upscale private medical facility outside Merida Metro, I lounged on a hospital bed, thumbing out messages with one hand while an IV fed into the other.
When no response came, I fired off another text.
Dominic: [You believe in love at first sight or what?]
Nothing.
I adjusted my position, popped a mint, and kept needling.
Dominic: [Got a quick story for ya. I'm totally into you.]
I waited, counting each second. Several long moments dragged by before she finally responded.
BT: [Like a mutt drooling outside a steakhouse.]
My face brightened like Christmas morning.
Dominic: [Hold up - what's that supposed to mean?]
BT: [You think you're good enough for me?]
For the first time ever, I questioned my looks.
The door clicked open.
Quentin entered, carrying a tray loaded with boxed medications and a needle.
"What's keeping you glued to that screen?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
I quickly flipped my phone down, closed my eyes, and acted like nothing had happened.
Quentin shrugged, not pushing it. He placed the tray down and pulled a chair beside the bed.
He tore open the medication package automatically, cracked an ampoule, and began filling the syringe.
"Did some research," he said matter-of-factly. "That NX-5 Serum on the dark web? Single supplier, definitely leaked from Medvantage Global. Still unclear if Winston knows."
While speaking, Quentin checked my IV hand, slowed the drip, disconnected the tubing, and attached the syringe for a gradual injection.
"But one thing's obvious," he continued. "Medvantage has some mastermind running things backstage."
I pretended not to hear, just ran fingers through my hair and mumbled, "Think... she's not interested because of this blonde disaster?"
Quentin's jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.
"No rule says everyone has to worship you, man," he snapped, frustration dripping from his voice.
Particularly since, among Merida Metro's elite, I had a reputation for being absolutely insufferable.
I leaned in. "This is totally on you, dude," I said playfully.
Quentin was ready to grind his teeth to powder.
"Think I wanted to bleach your hair?" he exploded, voice climbing. "You were trapped in that nightmare for so long - who knows what chemicals they forced into you?
"If your father snaps and orders a hair drug screen, you're finished. It would glow like a beacon. You should thank me for not shaving you bald!"
I released a long, theatrical sigh. "Don't you find it kind of insane, though?"
Quentin frowned. "What are you rambling about?"
"When I escaped, the tech I snatched? From the Hopper family. And that NX-5 Serum? Also connected to the Hopper family."
Quentin's expression froze, his mind racing through countless scenarios.
But before he could speak, I sighed again, all dramatic and dreamy.
"I figured it out from the very beginning," I said, voice soft and smug. "That girl's been obsessed with me the whole time, and I totally missed it.
"From getting captured to breaking free - it's all her grand scheme. She's got me trapped in her web... so brilliant, so devious."
Quentin's eyes bulged, his mouth falling open before he recovered. "You got tortured in Dark Abyss Penitentiary, injected with truth serum, hallucinogens, and God-knows-what, and you're claiming it's because she likes you?"
My smirk turned absolutely arrogant as I relaxed back.
"You wouldn't understand, bro," I said, tone oozing self-confident charm. "It's that whole 'steal what's mine' vibe."
Quentin's face went expressionless as he reconnected the IV with practiced efficiency. Then he smacked himself across the face.
'Why do I keep buying into his garbage?' he wondered, head shaking.
He knew I never said anything worthwhile, but he always took the hook anyway.
I dismissed him with a lazy wave.
"Alright, scram," I said. "I just added that girl on social media, and I'm planning to charm her until dawn."
Quentin stood there briefly, face mixing frustration and surrender, before he rushed from the room, door slamming hard enough to shake the frame.
I returned to my phone, fingers moving with fresh determination.
I typed: [Hey, wait - what's your name again? Need something for your contact. Winston mentioned it started with U... drawing a blank here.]
I added a row of grinning emojis for effect.
The smileys had barely appeared when the blue progress bar at the bottom flickered. Then suddenly - the blue checkmark beside my message vanished, replaced by a bright red circle with an exclamation mark.
A system notification slowly appeared across the chat top:
[Message not sent. This person is unavailable on Signal.]
"Figures," I muttered quietly. "Should've seen that coming."
I stared at the chat interface, my smile razor-sharp but empty, nowhere near my eyes.
The antidote hadn't taken effect yet, and the neurotoxin in my bloodstream was hitting like a sledgehammer.
Within minutes, I went from relaxed to my phone sliding from my grip, bouncing off the bed with a muted thud, then clattering to the floor.
I lacked the energy to worry about the phone anymore.
I collapsed backward, curling tight, my body bracing against the agony.
Cold sweat drenched my bangs, sticking them to my forehead.
——
Amara's POV
I had just finished organizing my room in the Hopper family villa's attic when a video call came through.
On the other side was a teenager in a white lab coat, young-looking, with gray-blue eyes and sharp features.
After connecting, he propped his phone up and kept his attention fixed on some documents on his laptop.
He said, "I searched every record for you. NX-5 neurotoxin's only appeared twice.
"Some time ago, that elite assassin, Obsidian, submitted a blood sample to the Global Biotech Science Center, paying massive amounts for an antidote.
"Then there's Dark Abyss Penitentiary purchasing NX-5 Serum."
"Yeah, I already know that," I said curtly.
The kid shook his head, glancing up briefly from his screen. "Fresh intel: that blood sample? It came from a woman."
I went rigid, my breath stopping. "What?!"
"If you're absolutely sure Obsidian's male, then maybe he wasn't the poisoned one. Or maybe both he and this woman got hit."
My lips pressed tight, jaw clenching. No chance I'd get the killer's gender wrong.
With my hyperthymesia, my memories went back to when I was barely a newborn.
Forgetting wasn't possible for me - every moment, every minute detail of my life was stored in my mind like an iron safe.
Even though I was just a toddler when my family was murdered, that scene replayed in my head like high-definition footage.
Using those memories, I'd reconstructed the killer's face and traced their identity.
But locating a top-tier assassin who'd disappeared long ago in this massive world? Nearly impossible.
"Got it," I said, releasing a slow, measured breath. "I'm changing my target."
The kid's eyebrows jumped. "Dark Abyss Penitentiary?"
"No," I said firmly. "Dominic Vancourts."
"Dominic Vancourts? Who the hell is that?"
Then understanding hit, and his eyes went wide. "Wait, you infiltrated Dark Abyss Penitentiary to rescue him?"
I pressed my lips together, my gaze shifting to my right hand, still trapped in a cast.
"Not rescue," I said. "Just ensuring he dies somewhere else, on my schedule."
The kid's jaw dropped, his voice climbing in bewilderment.