Good Pretender- But not too perfect

I've been watching her, for a while now.

Liach! Liach Brain.

She seems so ordinary but strange; most time she is extremely clumsy and other times Light-footed—with precision, graceful and, calculations.

Too self-aware for someone so new to this world.

She even makes coffee with military efficiency. Arranging files alphabetically not by recent use or update, she also uses color-coded format. I get that she schooled at Arcanum. But she's flawless. Too flawless.

Most times when I watch her type, I imagine those fingers of her wrapped around a blade instead of a pen stabbing someone to their death.

What would she look like soaked in blood?

It's fucking dangerous—this curiosity. It's not just suspicion anymore. It's interest.

And it's fucking infuriating.

I don't like not knowing. I don't like games where I don't control the board. Where I'll be guessing.

I think I've to do something about her, to prove she's who I want her to be.

I stand up making my way to the East wing—the meeting room. When she catches my attention as she types away.

You are coming with me.

"Ms Liach, come to the meeting," I say casually, "I want you to take notes."

Her eyes flick up, as if my words took her off guard. There was a moment of hesitation. It was small, but it was there.

Today's meeting isn't what she should know, not yet. But you're coming with me.

"Yes, Sir," she shut her laptop, stands up, walking behind me.

I led her to back room where my captain waited. Hard men with old scars and sharp eyes.

Men that will scare any common girl.

But she doesn't flinch. Wasn't scared at all.

Then I introduced her. "This is Liach Brain. She's the new assistant. You can say anything in front of her."

Marek glances at me; like I've lost my mind. But I don't care.

Why? Because I want to see her every move: how she behaves with confidential information, her reactions to some affluent names. I want to see how she reacts under pressure. I want to see if the world of violence bring back the girl I think she is.

During the meeting, we discuss territory movements, suspected leaks, upcoming weapons, and shipments.

And with all efficiency, she takes notes like a machine. Maybe it's because of her qualifications.

But when Marek brings up the Cisco's, I watch her closely.

Her pen falters. Barely. But it's there. As if he hit a nerve.

"Someone left a message in lipstick," Marek says, passing around photos. "Clean kill. The guy was gutted."

I look at her. Expecting a reaction.

But there was nothing.

Not a flinch. Not a smirk. Not even fear.

But the pulse in her vein ticks at her neck, faster than before.

"Hah." I scoffed, staring at her intently.

"Boss, is something wrong?" Marek asks drawing my attention from her to him.

"No. Carry on with the briefing.

"Yes boss."

As the briefing continues, my gaze darted to her from time to time until the meeting ended.

"Ms. Liach, have you ever seen anything like that?" I ask her.

She looks up and smiles faintly. "No. But it was new, unprofessional, and intense."

Bold words. But clever. She's trying to steer the narrative.

"What made you think so?" I ask.

"When I applied to be your assistant. I did expect a lot of things but not this much."

"This much?"

"I mean, look at the man who was killed—it was brutal! The shipment, some of the affluent names mentioned, the message left on the wall, even the part about torture and all! I wasn't expecting that. I hope my life won't be at risk, going forward."

What a good pretender. Oh God. I want to drag her from the table, pin her against these walls, and see if, when she bleeds it's blood or lies—if, when I cut into her for the truth, if she'd still be this composed.

But I will give it more time to see if it's just my mind playing tricks, or if she is actually who I think she is.

Instead, I just nod to her answers.

"You're right. It was a desperate message. And don't worry; no harm will come your way. I tend to keep my people safe."

That night, I watch the security footage from outside the accountant's building again.

Frame by frame.

There. A figure in black. Moving fast. Hair pinned up. Body small and lean.

I zoom in on the profile.

Too grainy. But that walking pattern… it's the walk that fucks with me.

I've seen that walk before. In heels. Down my hallway. Carrying coffee.

I slam my fist into the desk.

Could it really be her?

Could I really be that unlucky and lucky? Or that blessed?

Because the more I think about it…the more I don't want her to be some ordinary assistant.

I want her to be Butterfly

To be Mine.

"That's after claiming her from her owner and then break her."