Ashriel Ronan Vexley
They gave him the mission like they always did—clean, quiet, no questions.
"Get close to her. Earn her trust. Find out what she knows about her father."
Simple words, but there was nothing simple about Alarica Siena Ravene.
Ashriel sat in the dimly lit briefing room of the agency's off-grid HQ, staring at the holographic projection of her profile. Her modeling shots cycled slowly—runway stills, magazine covers, paparazzi images. All flawless. All distant.
She didn't look real. That's what struck him first.
Even in candid photos, she carried herself like a secret no one was allowed to ask about. Controlled. Sharp. Hollow in a way the camera never quite caught, but his trained eye did.
"She's not just a model," said Director Malden, arms crossed behind her back. "She's the daughter of Cassian Ravene."
Ashriel didn't blink. The name was a ghost. One that used to show up in intelligence reports and blacklisted case files. Cassian Ravene: international financier with deep ties to illegal arms trades, global surveillance networks, and tech that never should've left the labs.
"He vanished eight years ago," Malden continued. "Presumed dead. But recently, encrypted activity connected to a dormant Ravene code resurfaced. Guess who just moved to the center of it?"
Ashriel's jaw tightened.
"They think it's her?"
"We think she's the key. Maybe she doesn't even know it. But someone's watching her—and they're getting closer."
A new image flashed on the screen. A close-up of a letter. Slanted handwriting. No signature.
"Threats?" Ashriel asked.
"Obsession. Repetition. A pattern. We've intercepted three. There could be more."
He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. "And you want me to pose as what? Security?"
Malden's smile was thin. "Not pose. You are her security. Starting tonight."
He said nothing.
"She's difficult," the Director added, turning off the projector. "Uncooperative. Doesn't trust easily. She'll push back. Expect it."
Ashriel stood, adjusting his cuffs. "Let her."
Malden paused at the door. "One more thing, Vexley."
He turned his head.
"She's not the mission. The secrets her father left behind are. Don't get sentimental."
He didn't respond.
He never did.
---
Later that night, he stood in her penthouse, watching the city bleed neon below.
He hadn't slept the night before the mission. He rarely did.
Sleep dulled the senses, and in his world, dull was deadly.
Alarica Siena Ravene.
She wasn't the first high-value assignment he'd been given, but she was the most dangerous. Not because of what she could do.
But because of what she didn't know.
And how easily she could unravel everything.
He'd reviewed her entire file twice that morning. Her records were nearly spotless. Almost too spotless. Everything above board, tight, and tightly managed. No scandals. No arrests. No trail. Either she was exactly what she appeared to be… or someone wanted her past scrubbed for a reason.
And then there were the letters.
He'd intercepted the latest one three days ago—before it reached her. Her reaction tonight confirmed she'd received another. That made four. All unsigned. All hand-delivered. All written with the kind of intimate obsession that made his skin crawl.
I know who you really are.
I know what he left you.
You can't hide forever, Alarica.
Ashriel didn't believe in coincidences. Someone was circling her—and fast.
Her file sat open in his mind, every line memorized.
Alarica Siena Ravene.
Twenty-four.
Elite model.
No known romantic ties.
One therapist—fired.
One assistant—missing.
One father—gone.
And still, none of it explained the way she felt like a myth. Like a living contradiction. Her reputation was all dark glamour, yet people who'd met her spoke in half-confused awe—about how kind she was. Gentle. Even… afraid.
Afraid of what?
The private elevator chimed.
Footsteps.
He didn't turn until her voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
"Who the hell are you?"
Ashriel turned slowly. Locked eyes with the woman he'd studied in files for weeks. In the flesh, she was colder. More dangerous. But something flickered behind her gaze. Not fear.
Recognition?
"Ashriel Vexley," he said. "Your new security detail."
"I didn't ask for one."
"No. But your agency did." His eyes drifted briefly to the envelope in her hand. Familiar slanted script.
He stepped closer.
"And considering the letters you've been receiving…" he added, voice low, "It's warranted."
Her expression froze. Just enough to confirm it.
She hadn't told anyone.
He looked around the penthouse. Cold. Luxurious. Designed for display, not comfort. Like her. Every detail manicured and distant. But there was a subtle chaos beneath it—a half-drunk tea mug on the windowsill. A book splayed open on the floor. A tiny, worn black ribbon tied around a doorknob like a child's memory.
She was trying to keep order in a world that kept tilting.
He understood that better than most.
"I don't like strangers in my space," she said.
"Then get used to me," he replied. "I'm not leaving."
He stepped forward slowly, careful not to crowd her.
"I'm here because you're a target. Whether you know why or not."
Her fingers curled slightly, like she was considering whether she could throw something at him and make it count.
"And what if I already know?"
Ashriel raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Silence.
Her voice dropped. "Are you here to protect me, or to watch me?"
Yes, he almost said.
Instead, he replied, "Both."
She flinched. Just a breath of it. But she didn't look away.
They stared at each other like two mirrors—dark, cracked, waiting for the other to break first.
Ashriel tilted his head slightly, gaze softening just enough to unsettle her.
"This won't work if you lie to me, Miss Ravene."
"And it won't work if you pretend you're not already doing it."
She turned on her heel and disappeared into the hallway, long black coat trailing behind her like smoke.
Ashriel didn't follow. Not yet.
He looked out the window again, past the city, past the clouds.
He didn't know it yet—but something in him had shifted the moment she walked in. Not attraction. Not danger.
Something deeper. Something colder.
He'd always been the one watching.
But now, for the first time, he felt seen.
And that terrified him more than the mission ever could.
END OF CHAPTER 1 – Ashriel's POV