PROLOGUE

From the moment she could remember, Ivy Reed had been fascinated by blood. Everything about it—the scent, the color, the way it trickled and pooled—held an unexplainable allure. A strange obsession for a child, no doubt.

At first, her parents dismissed it as a harmless quirk. If anything, they encouraged her peculiar interests, indulging her when she expressed a desire to kill chickens or watch gory horror films filled with gruesome, blood-soaked scenes.

But as she grew older, her fascination deepened. Sometimes, she would press a blade to her own skin, watching in quiet wonder as crimson beads surfaced and slid down her arm. It wasn't about pain—it was about the mesmerizing sight of life's essence spilling free.

Eventually, her parents grew concerned. They tried everything—therapy, religious rituals, even spiritual cleansings—to purge her of this unsettling obsession. Nothing worked.

When that failed, they turned to more conventional distractions. Music, art, toys—anything a child of her age might enjoy. They spared no expense. After all, they were the Reeds—one of the wealthiest families in the world, owners of a global tech empire. Money was never an issue.

One eccentric shaman even declared that Ivy was the reincarnation of the Egyptian blood goddess Sekhmet. Her parents, despite their desperation, scoffed at the idea.

In the end, they gave up and simply let her be.

Ivy, however, felt nothing for them. No warmth, no attachment. They were just the people who had brought her into existence, who showered her with gifts in hopes of gaining her love. To the outside world, they were model parents. But to her, they were distant figures, neither loved nor hated—just there.

She learned early on that emotions were something she had to mimic. So, she studied people. She observed their expressions, their reactions, their subtle cues, and adapted accordingly. By the time she started school, she had perfected the art of blending in. Making friends was effortless—not because she craved companionship, but because it made things easier.

Her parents worried less when they saw her socializing, so she played along.

For a while, life remained stable—or as stable as it could be for the heiress of an empire. Her parents were always busy but made time for her when they could. It was a carefully maintained illusion of normalcy.

Then came the night everything changed.

The three of them were in the living room, each absorbed in their own world. Her mother painted her nails, her father typed away on his laptop, and Ivy sat curled up on the couch, engrossed in, "Wrong Turn," her gaze fixed on the screen as an ax split open a skull.

Then, the lights went out.

A whisper of movement. The faintest shift in the air.

Before anyone could react, a dagger sliced through the darkness and embedded itself in her father's throat. A sickening gurgle filled the room as blood sprayed outward in a violent arc.

Ivy didn't scream. She didn't even flinch.

She simply watched, transfixed.

Her mother's shriek cut through the silence, but it was short-lived. A second blade silenced her, and she collapsed in a lifeless heap beside her husband.

The room was still again, save for the quiet drip of blood pooling onto the marble floor.

Ivy stood motionless, not in fear, but in awe. She crouched down, dipping her fingers into the warm liquid, feeling its texture against her skin.

"It's warm," she murmured, a slow smile tugging at her lips.

A presence loomed over her.

She lifted her gaze and met the shadowed figure standing before her. The assassin. Dressed entirely in black, a mask concealing his face, he exuded an aura of cold efficiency. He was tall, lean, yet powerful, his posture unreadable.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, as if trying to make sense of what he was witnessing.

Then, she spoke.

"Why did you kill them?" Her voice was calm, unnervingly steady. No fear. No grief. Just curiosity.

A beat passed before he responded, his voice low and smooth.

"They must have offended someone willing to pay a fortune to see them dead."

She considered this. Her parents had been kind, generous. If someone had wanted them gone, it had to be out of jealousy or greed.

"So… you get paid to see blood?" she asked.

There was a pause before he replied, "I get paid to kill. Blood is just part of the process."

Her eyes brightened. "Does that mean I can be like you?"

The assassin tilted his head slightly, as if caught off guard by her response. "Kid, I just murdered your parents."

"And?" she replied, genuinely confused by his reaction.

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I heard the Reed family's daughter wasn't right in the head, but this... this is something else." He studied her for a moment longer before speaking again. "Still, killing you would be a waste. You've got potential."

He took a step closer. "How about this: join my organization? I'll personally train you. You'll see all the blood you want."

A slow, genuine smile spread across her face. "Really? I'll get to see blood?"

"As much as you want."

She agreed—but on one condition. He had to help her track down the people who had ordered her parents' deaths.

The assassin let out another amused chuckle. "How bold of you to make demands." There was something almost entertained in his tone. "But I have a feeling you'll make me a lot of money, so I'll allow it."

And just like that, he vanished into the night, leaving her alone in the bloodstained room.

She did what any grieving daughter was expected to do—she called the police. She sobbed, her voice shaking as she described the "killer." She painted a vivid picture of a short, frantic woman, her eyes wild with rage.

The authorities swore they would find her.

Three months later, they did. The real culprit—a man who had been eyeing her father's position in the company.

Justice was served.

After the trial, Ivy took control of the family business. Many tried to manipulate her, assuming a thirteen-year-old girl would be easy to control. They were wrong. With the right allies, she stabilized the company within months.

Then, as promised, the assassin—who told her to call him "Director"—returned.

That night, Ivy disappeared from the world she had known. The public believed she had gone abroad to study.

But in reality, she was stepping into the shadows.

And she was ready to drown in blood.