CHAPTER 4

Fiona's POV

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Evening came fast after I rested.

Upstairs in my room, I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the tension of the day. 

The weight of my mother's expectations, the suffocating reality of my mission—all of it momentarily drowned beneath the steady stream.

By the time I stepped out, steam curled around me like a ghostly embrace. Ii moved on autopilot, slipping into a red crop top and a black mini skirt that hugged my waist perfectly. 

Heeled boots completed the look, adding an extra edge to my frame.

I leaned toward the mirror, carefully applying my makeup—bold, confident, untouchable

By day, I was the perfect soldier, meticulously following orders. But at night? The night was mine.

This was my secret, the only part of my life that didn't belong to my mother. 

Every night, I escaped—to the bars, to the music, to the haze of alcohol. It dulled the sharp edges of my reality, numbed the weight pressing down on me.

But this is a new bar, I've never been here before so I have to be careful.

I wasn't foolish. I knew my mother had eyes everywhere. If she wanted to, she could uncover this act of rebellion in an instant.

But she didn't care.

As long as I succeeded in my mission, I was free to destroy myself however I pleased.

Stepping onto the balcony, I took a breath before leaping down effortlessly, landing in a smooth crouch. 

As as I straightened, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through recommendations for bars nearby. I was new here, and I needed a place that suited my taste—nothing too crowded, nothing too loud.

Finding a decent option, I hailed a taxi, slipping into the backseat as the city lights blurred past. The ride was short, and when I arrived, I stepped out, my heels clicking against the pavement.

The bouncer at the entrance eyed me, his expression unreadable. "ID?"

I smirked, already reaching into my purse. Fake IDs were the least of my worries.

"Vanessa Santiago. Eighteen years old," he murmured as he scanned it.

After a beat, he handed it back. "You're good to go."

Tucking the ID away, I strode inside without hesitation, my boots clicking against the sleek tiled floors. 

The bar was fancy, just the way I liked it. Dimly lit, with plush seating and a soft hum of conversation. Not too rowdy.

Perfect.

As I made my way to an open seat, I felt it—the weight of eyes on me.

It was subtle, but undeniable.

I was used to attention, but this was different.

I ignored it, keeping my stride smooth, unbothered. Let them stare. I wasn't here for them.

I was here to forget my troubles.

I settled into the barstool, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the glass the bartender had just slid in front of me. 

A dark cocktail—smooth, strong, and dangerous. Just the way I liked it.

The dim lighting, the soft jazz murmuring through the speakers, the scent of whiskey and expensive cologne hanging in the air—it was perfect.

Here, no one called me Fiona. No one whispered Jack under their breath.

No expectations. No orders. No cold, calculating voices instructing me on how to live my life.

For a few short hours, I was just me.

I took a slow sip, the burn of alcohol sliding down my throat, spreading warmth through my chest. The weight on my shoulders dulled, just a little.

I could breath

But peace never lasted.

I felt it before I even turned my head.

A presence. A stare.

Not the usual lingering glances of admiration or casual interest I was used to—but something heavier. Sharper. 

A gaze that sliced through the dim atmosphere and sent a prickle of unease down my spine.

I took another sip, pretending not to notice. But my fingers twitched against the glass, my instincts screaming at me to be careful.

Subtly, I shifted my gaze, scanning the room through the reflection in the dark liquor.

And then—I saw him.

Sitting in the VIP section, effortlessly relaxed, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Adrian Morreti.

My pulse spiked. My grip on the glass tightened. What the hell is he doing here?

This wasn't some casual college hangout, It was an upscale bar.

He shouldn't be here. 

And yet, there he was.

Adrian leaned back in his seat, lazy, composed. But his sharp blue eyes? They were locked directly on me.

As if he had peeled away my disguise layer by layer—seeing exactly who I was beneath.

I forced my expression to remain neutral, my mind racing.

Did he recognize me? Was this some sick coincidence? Or had I already slipped up—on the first damn day of the mission?

No. Impossible.

I was careful. I was always careful.

Adrian took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering.

And then—he smirked.

A knowing, amused smirk.

My stomach dropped.

My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the music.

I was in trouble.

Shit.

What was I going to do? Ignoring the gaze, I gulped down the glass of alcohol, which did wonders for my stomach and calmed my emotions.

"Hello, pretty," a man came to me, looking at me pervertedly, but I wasn't disturbed by his gaze. I was used to them always coming to flirt with me, trying to get me into their bed, which made me more excited to flirt back.

"My name is Vanesssaaa," I said, pronouncing my name sultrily while winking at him. I almost sneered, seeing him swooning over me.

"Your name is as beautiful as you are," he said, looking at me flirtatiously.

Hearing this, my mood instantly dropped.

"You done? You can go," I said sassily, wondering where he got his pick-up line.

Noticing my change of mood, he was shocked, wondering what he did wrong.

Not wanting to say more, I took my drink and left.

Walking away from the man, I was hit by a tall guy. Wondering who it was, I raised my head.

I was captivated by his blue eyes.

But I snapped out of my reverie upon hearing his voice.

"Are you okay?" the guy asked, holding my waist.

"It's you?" I said in surprise, recognizing the familiar voice.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, confusion evident in his eyes as he wondered where I knew him from.

Moving myself from his embrace after realizing I had almost exposed myself, I said, "Sorry."

Then I walked away, trying my best not to show my nervousness.