A Traitor Among Us

Not all knives are meant for your back. Some are held to your throat.

Celeste....

It was midnight by the time I reached my apartment. The weight of Adrian's words was unbearable. I didn't know what was going to happen, and at this point, I felt lost and confused. In my 24 years of life, I had never felt conflicted over any decision.

When I was 14 and found out that the reason my father lost his life was because he was on a mission for the FBI, without a second thought, I knew I wanted to do the same. That was my way of being close to him. I had no picture of him—hell, I only met him once when I was six. I don't even remember his face. At age eight, I was adopted by my foster father, who claimed he was close to my father and that they went to high school together. I joined the FBI when I was 18, but I had started secretly training when I was 15. Since then, my entire life had revolved around the FBI. Everything. I trusted them more than anyone.

And now they were at my back.

A message notification brought me out of my thoughts.

Meet me. Now.

I stared at the message. I didn't need to feel conflicted because the message was from my foster father. But why was he texting at midnight?

I typed back: Where?

The reply was immediate: Home.

Home.

A mansion built on wealth and secrets, a place that had once been my sanctuary. I had spent my entire life believing William Carter was nothing more than a businessman, a self-made millionaire who had taken me in when my real father had died.

After a 20-minute drive, I was in front of the mansion.

William—my father—stood in the grand study, back turned to me, gazing out the window. The city lights reflected in the glass, making him look almost ghostly.

"Welcome, daughter dearest," he said with a smile.

"Why did you want to see me in the middle of the night?" I asked, irritation lacing my voice.

"Nothing, just wanted to remind you of who you are." He says looking me dead in the eye.

"Remember the day when I told you about your father dying for the FBI?" he asked, his voice laced with something I couldn't quite place—anticipation, amusement, maybe even cruelty.

"Yes." Word by word, like every scene was still printed in my mind. But I didn't say that out loud.

I was fourteen when they told me.

Sitting in a sterile FBI office, hands clutching the edge of the chair, my body too small for the weight of the words being spoken to me.

"Your father was killed in action."

I had barely understood what that meant then. All I had known was grief, the unbearable weight of it crushing me. They had told me he was working undercover in a mission gone wrong. That he had died a hero.

"I still remember the burning passion you had in your eyes when you started your training, thinking no one knew. How foolish of you. But that was still cute," William mused, watching me carefully.

I stiffened. How did he know that?

"The passion in your eyes was so pretty when you completed your first mission at 18, just a month after officially joining. That's when I knew—you were my blood, and you acted upon it. You had the same fire inside you, the same passion. But the emotions in your eyes when you look at Adrian Russo is not something that I admire. I don't like the way he distracts my daughter, my passionate daughter."

I stared at him, something cold crawling up my spine. "You were my blood and acted upon it," I echoed, feeling like my world was collapsing beneath me.

"What do you mean your blood?" I asked, my voice trembling.

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. Only triumph.

"Oh, Celeste," he sighed, shaking his head. "You really thought I adopted you out of kindness?"

I took a step back. My stomach twisted violently. "You… you knew my father?"

His eyes gleamed. "I was your father dear."

My heart stopped. The room spun.

I shook my head. "No. No, that's not possible. My father—he died. He died working for the FBI—"

"That's what they told you." His voice was smooth, predatory. "That's what I told you."

I couldn't breathe.

"You were too young to remember," he continued, watching me like a predator watches its prey. "Too young to know the truth. So I built one for you. I gave you a reason to join the Bureau. I shaped you into the perfect weapon."

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. "Why?" I choked out.

His gaze hardened. "Because Adrian Russo is still alive. And I need him dead. I knew you were the only one who could do this. All that pain as made you stronger. Celeste what doesn't kills you only makes you stronger remember."

The world cracked apart at the seams.

"Always remember Celeste, what doesn't kills you makes you stronger. That's what your father belived." I remember William telling me this right after bring me into his mansion.

"Why faked your own death lied to me. Made me believe I have no one in this world. And now your lying that you wanted me to be ready for this mission. Adrain was 19 when you told me your dead."I scream at him.

"You don't get it do you? I didn't wanted to do all this love. But I had to. My mission didn't start with Adrain it started with his dad. Viktor Russo. I succesfully killed him but Adrain…he was left behind and hidden. It took me 3 years. Three damn years. At your 14th birthday after three years I finally found him and got know he is here in New York. He was 19 by that time, which meant one thing he could take over the Russo empire. So when I came to finally meet you ,I could see how desprate you were for me and I knew you would do anything for me. Apart from all that I could see the potential in you. I knew you could finish what I sarted. From that moment till today all I did was to prepapre you for all this. I faked my death, told the higher ups that you are perfect for this job. I asked Michael to train, gave you all those missions. You turned out to be the strongest my love. I am proud of you."

"You killed his father."

William tilted his head slightly, unfazed. "Yes. And you will kill the son."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. "Why?" The question escaped me before I could stop it, my voice barely above a whisper.

William's expression darkened slightly, as if he had been waiting for me to ask. "Because the Russo empire should have died with Viktor. Your so-called Adrian is just a shadow walking on borrowed time. He refuses to stay buried."

I shook my head, stepping back. "But what does killing him do for you? You have power, influence—why do you need this war?"

William exhaled, his jaw tightening. "Because his father took something from me.Something I can never get back. I waited years for my revenge, Celeste. I raised you to be the one to finish what I started."

I stared at him, my entire body trembling. "You raised me to be your weapon. Not your daughter."

His lips curled slightly. "That's where you're wrong. I raised you to be strong. And now, you have a choice. Be the soldier I created, or be the fool who lets him live and watches her own world burn."

The silence between us was deafening, and for the first time, I didn't know where I belonged.

The weight of his words crushed me.

"Celeste, you have one option. Kill Adrian Russo." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Or I will frame you for treason. The FBI will turn on you. The world will turn on you. And what do you think will Adrian do when he finds out who you are?"

I wanted to tell him that he knows but I can't do that. If he doesn't know than we will keep it that way.

I felt like I was going to be sick. This was it. The moment my entire life had been leading to.

And it had never been my choice to begin with.

Adrian

She was different when she returned.

She barely looked at me. Her movements were too controlled, her breathing too shallow. But the moment she stepped into the room, I knew.

Something had happened.

I watched her, silent, waiting.

And then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Adrian, I need to tell you something."

I folded my arms, watching her carefully. "Then tell me."

She hesitated, as if she wasn't sure how to form the words. "It's... complicated."

I tilted my head, stepping closer. "You don't get to hesitate now, Celeste. You came back, which means you're still standing at the edge of whatever decision you're afraid to make."

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. "You think I'm afraid?"

"I think," I murmured, leaning in, "that you don't know what to do. That for the first time in your life, the mission isn't so black and white anymore. And I think that terrifies you."

I stepped closer, my fingers brushing against hers. Cold. Unsteady.

"You're hesitating." My voice was low, steady. "That's not like you."

She swallowed hard. "I—"

"Who was it?" I pressed, softer this time. More dangerous.

Her lips parted, her gaze darting to mine, full of war and uncertainty.

And I did the only thing I could think of to stop her from spiraling—I kissed her.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Not out of anger. Not out of control.

But because I wanted to remind her—

That whatever choice she thought she had to make, she wasn't alone.

And this time, she kissed me back.

It was different. Not out of frustration or desperation, but because she needed to. Because she wanted something to anchor her to reality.

When we pulled apart, my lips still brushing against hers, I whispered, "Tell me who it was."

Her eyes burned. And then, just barely audible—

"My father."

Everything stilled.

And I knew—

This wasn't just about survival anymore.

This was war.