Camille's gloves slammed into the worn leather of the heavy bag, each strike sharp and precise. Sweat slid down her temple, but she ignored it, shifting her stance smoothly. Her muscles moved on instinct, honed over years of discipline and relentless training.
Across from her, Master Lee, her trainer for nearly a decade, moved with calm patience, guiding her through a series of jabs and hooks.
"Not bad," he said, stepping aside from one of her punches with the grace of a man half his age.
Camille smirked, feinting left before tapping his shoulder cleanly. "You're slowing down, old man. Thought experience beats speed?"
He snorted softly. "Experience doesn't stop a hit to the shoulder."
She laughed lightly, bouncing on her feet. "Fair enough."
They fell into rhythm, gloves moving in a familiar dance. But after a moment, his tone sharpened.
"You've been absent lately," he said. "Too many breaks."
Camille paused mid-motion, adjusting her stance. She had been drifting. Taking time off. Thinking too much.
"Work, huh?" she teased, deflecting. "Maybe I'll switch careers. Become a professional boxer. Sounds cool, right?"
"Oh please," he chuckled, studying her closely. "You look restless. Don't let that consume you."
She shrugged, forcing a light smile. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."
"Be careful with that," he said gently. "Overthinking leads people into dangerous places."
Their session wound down. Master Lee peeled off his gloves and headed to the far end of the gym to return equipment. Camille dropped hers, grabbing her water bottle and leaning against the ropes. The familiar burn in her muscles grounded her, reminded her of control, precision, patience.
"Camille," Master Lee called suddenly.
She looked up. "Yeah?"
"Someone's here for you."
Her brow lifted. Expecting a courier, maybe a visitor, she was not prepared for who actually appeared.
Immaculate. Poised. Commanding.
Mr. Black.
The air seemed to tighten around him as he walked towards the ring.
Camille straightened immediately. "Mr. Black." She inclined her head, formal, professional.
"Camille," he greeted smoothly. A faint smile played on his lips. "I trust your break has been… restorative?"
"Enlightening," she replied carefully, eyes steady, tone neutral.
His gaze flicked over her gloves, the sweat on her skin, then back to her eyes. He turned to Master Lee who was picking up the now discarded gloves from the floor.
"May we use the office? It won't take long."
Master Lee studied him once, then nodded. "It's yours."
Camille followed Mr. Black into the small office, remaining standing while he lit a cigar, taking two slow drags before speaking.
"I'll be brief. We have a new assignment."
He slid several black-and-white photographs across the desk.
"This is the target."
Camille's eyes fell on the image.
A man. Sharp features, controlled expression, cold gaze. Kade Wilder.
Recognition flickered, quick, almost imperceptible. She remembered him. The man from the ball. The dance, the brush of lips she had walked away from, the way he had commanded her attention without trying. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her waist as he guided her round the ballroom. He had never left her thoughts. Her pulse didn't betray her, her face gave nothing away. Nothing.
She studied the photo with professional detachment.
"Kade Wilder," Mr. Black said, exhaling smoke. "His name has surfaced repeatedly in our investigation into a Russian smuggling network. Suspicion, not evidence, but enough to justify attention."
She said nothing, holding her expression in perfect control.
"Your assignment," he continued, "is to infiltrate his organization. Work from inside. Gather proof. If he is guilty, We bring him down."
He puffed on his cigar and stared at her. "Any questions?"
Her gaze lifted, cool and professional. "No questions, sir."
"Do you think you are up to the task?" He tilted his head.
Camille stiffened as memories of her last mission assaulted her mind, but she didn't allow her reaction to show.
"I am."
"Good." He gestured to the thick file on the desk. "That contains everything we know. Study it."
She picked it up, flipping through pages quietly, already parsing every detail. Financials, associates, schedules, small nuances that might hint at the man behind the public face. She was calm. Calculated. Ready.
"And Camille…" Mr. Black leaned forward, tapping ash into the tray.
"Don't let his face fool you."
She resisted the urge to scoff. She was one of their best agents. No failed mission save from her last one and it wasn't by her designs. No attachments. No weakness.
Kade Wilder wouldn't be different.
Mr. Black continued, detailing what little intel they had: CEO, elite circles, spotless public image, deeply guarded private dealings. Every line hinted at danger. Every word demanded caution.
Camille's pulse ticked faster, not from fear, but anticipation. A challenge like this was rare, sharp enough to cut through the monotony she had been feeling. Her mind was already racing through possibilities, scenarios, contingencies.
Her first step would be simple: get hired.
To do that, Camille Devile would disappear, and Camille De Luca would take her place.
She wondered for a brief moment what expression would cross his face when they met again. She suppressed a smile. Faces like his were puzzles. And she had always loved puzzles.
Kade Wilder. CEO. Untouchable. Elusive. Dangerous, but not in the way anyone expected. He was a challenge, a puzzle she now had to fit inside.
A frisson of excitement snaked down her spine. The thought of slipping into his world, navigating it undetected, learning every secret, every hidden corner, made her pulse quicken.
He wouldn't see her coming. Or would he?
The question lingered longer than she let herself admit.