Bella stood in front of the mirror in her room, an entirely different presence from her home's cozy interior. Clad in a tailored black suit, she exuded elegance with a distinct air of cold detachment. The fabric clung perfectly to her tall, graceful figure, and the slightly faded white buttons on her chest added a vintage charm to her otherwise modern look.
A black dress shirt, a neat black tie, and fitted trousers completed her ensemble. Her narrow, arched eyebrows were drawn in a fine line, her lips painted with a subtle touch of frost.
Her golden hair, once flowing like sunlight, was now tied into a high ponytail. A few strands fell just over her forehead, and a clean cut behind her ears gave her a sharp, efficient look.
Combined with her stormy mood—an aftertaste of days spent under surveillance—her aura was transformed. From refined girl-next-door to a deadly, suited specter.
Tread. Tread.
The soft tap of her brown Oxford shoes echoed through the quiet room as she walked toward the window. With her enhanced eyesight, she peered through the darkness and immediately spotted a car parked across the street, a hundred meters away. Inside, two men pretended to sleep.
Bella's emerald eyes narrowed into slits of pure ice.
"Is it the inheritance money? Or is it just my face?" she murmured. "Doesn't matter. You won't be around long enough for it to matter."
It started two weeks ago. Her intuition—now heightened far beyond human limits—picked up on subtle irregularities. Sounds outside the window. The faint click of a camera. Someone tailing her at the grocery store.
And then she heard them. She didn't even have to leave her house. Sitting quietly, her ears picked up muffled conversations coming from across the street.
The two men in the car worked for a local gang known as the Savages—a small-time syndicate operating in Fox Town. But the Savages were just an extension of a much larger criminal network: the Savage Salvadorans, based out of Los Angeles.
Drugs. Weapons. Human trafficking. Arms dealing. They ran everything from the shadows.
As it turned out, the son of the local Savage leader—a scumbag named Blake—had taken a liking to Bella after seeing her once on the street. Word on the street was he was planning to "take her" soon.
If it weren't for her rising popularity and the attention surrounding her father's death, they likely would have acted already. But they waited. Watched.
Too bad for them, that delay gave Bella time to grow stronger.
She wasn't thankful for it.
She was going to kill them.
Anyone who threatened her life—even slightly—was dead meat.
From her place at the window, Bella looked like a ghost cloaked in night. Only her eyes shimmered in the darkness, glowing like twin green jewels stolen from the underworld.
10:00 PM – The Savage Bar, Fox Town
The bar pulsed with noise and chaos. Neon lights splashed across the walls in rainbow streaks, while the DJ screamed into the mic over a wall of sound. Music pounded like a war drum. Bodies writhed to the beat—sweaty, wild, reckless.
In corners, men and women passed joints and tabs. The air reeked of alcohol, smoke, and lust.
And then the front door opened.
In walked a shadow.
Bella, now wearing a V-shaped silver mask that concealed her beautiful face, stepped into the club like a phantom. The sharp contours of her tailored suit and her regal posture instantly drew attention. She moved with the elegance of a noble and the menace of a killer.
The guards at the door barely glanced at her.
People dressed oddly all the time here. Who cared about another suited figure?
One of the guards did give her a once-over and muttered, "Damn, who's this chick? That body... model-tier."
His partner smirked. "Some rich guy's toy, probably."
They had no idea how wrong they were.
Bella passed them without a word, but her sharp eyes caught the glint of a pistol tucked under one guard's arm. She noted it—and dismissed it.
Inside, the music was nearly deafening. Her sensitive hearing winced, but her enhanced mind filtered the noise effortlessly. She focused only on what mattered.
The hallway led to another set of doors. Two more guards waited there—big men, each easily 1.9 meters tall and built like linebackers.
Their eyes locked onto her.
"Check this one out," one said, nudging the other. "Another high-class slut pretending to be mysterious."
"The mask's a nice touch," the other chuckled darkly. "Maybe she's into freaky stuff."
Bella's emerald eyes narrowed.
As she stepped between them, the scent of her perfume made one of them visibly twitch with lust.
Then—crack!
Her hands lashed out like striking cobras.
One strike to each neck. Two heavy thuds as both men collapsed, unconscious before they even hit the ground. Bella caught their bodies with ease—each of them weighing nearly 200 pounds—and held them as if they were nothing.
The nearby booths stirred in confusion.
"Aahh—what the hell?!"
"Waterfake, Ross?!"
"Holy crap—she just dropped both of them!"
The chaos on the main floor barely registered what had happened. Most people were still dancing, too drugged or distracted to notice. Others turned slowly, more annoyed than alarmed.
Bella didn't stop.
She looked up—eyes locking onto the second-floor VIP area.
There he was.
Blake.
Seated on a plush couch, arm wrapped around a half-naked girl, drink in hand. He laughed at something someone whispered in his ear.
Bella's gaze pierced through the lights and music. She stared straight at him like death incarnate.
As if sensing something, Blake looked down—and froze.
There, standing in the middle of the bar like a living shadow, was the woman he'd ordered his men to stalk.
A black-suited figure. Masked. Poised.
Deadly.
Before he could say a word, BOOM!
The two unconscious guards she'd been holding flew through the air like human missiles, hurled by Bella with superhuman strength. They smashed through the balcony railing and slammed into Blake's VIP booth like twin wrecking balls.
Glass shattered. Furniture exploded. Bodies flew.
Blake managed to shield the girl in his arms and narrowly avoided the full impact, but he was thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
Screams pierced the air.
"My arm! My arm's broken!"
"I can't feel my legs!"
The once-glamorous second floor turned into a blood-soaked warzone.
Downstairs, the dancers halted in confusion. Many had blood splattered on their skin but couldn't immediately tell in the shifting lights.
A woman rubbed a smear on her cheek. "Is this… blood?"
As the lights brightened, revealing the carnage above, realization dawned. The screaming intensified.
The gang's armed guards finally jumped into action.
"Kill the lights!" someone shouted. "Lock the doors!"
Bright white beams replaced the flickering colors. More than a dozen armed thugs blocked the exits, guns raised, preventing anyone from leaving.
Someone tried to call for backup, but chaos had already erupted.
Patrons backed away, hands raised, some weeping in fear.
"She just threw two guys like baseballs!"
"Who is she?!"
"Some kind of assassin?!"
"No—she's not human!"
Bella didn't respond to any of it. She stood calmly in the middle of the floor, scanning for her next target.
She wasn't done.
Not yet.