REBEL The loud, chaotic streets of Cali were loud and chaotic, but I had mastered tuning out the noise. Sharp as a razor, I could cut through a crowded marketplace with precision. My small, dirt-streaked hands moved in and out of pockets and bags with the specificity of someone far older, plucking wallets and coins without the faintest ripple of suspicion. I was a ghost, unseen and unnoticed, at six years old, and the movements developed my instincts for survival. As I walked, I could feel eyes on me, but when I turned back, there was no one watching, so I plough on. MICHAEL Michael leaned against a lamppost on the edge of the market, his piercing gaze following the little girl's every move. He'd been watching her for three days now, curiosity growing with each passing hour. Most kids her age had families, or at least a group to cling to in the streets. Not her. She was utterly alone, moving with a silent efficiency that spoke of both talent and desperation. Today, though, it
DANIELThe fatigue descended upon me like a blurred mist. I was exhausted from hours of exhausting meetings and desperately wanted to go home and have some much-needed alone time. Before Klaus, my best friend and business partner ruined the dream, my mind had already begun to imagine a peaceful evening—scotch, stillness, perhaps a book. His voice had pierced my brain's static with its forceful tone."You must attend the gala, Daniel. This is your gala. Are you aware of the consequences of your absence? He was aware that it was one of those debates I couldn't win. I was stranded in a glittering ballroom that felt more like a cage, all decked out, with incessant small talk andKlaus was a perfectionist; he nipped at me like a father at his son's ear. "Smile," he complained, nudging me. "You look like you're at a funeral." "Come on. It's one night. Show the donors you're human, not some stoic, untouchable CEO. At least try to look approachable." I forced my lips into what I hoped was a s
REBEL The dance floor was flooded with soft, golden light. The air was filled with the elegant melodies of a string quartet. The dancers moved in unison as if they were performing a single, intricately planned performance. I pretend that I don't see him staring as I dance with this stranger, but even as I smile and engage in manly small talk with this uninteresting person, I can feel his eyes boring into me. I didn't realise that this entire event had been held in his honour, and I didn't recognise him for the billionaire he is. Abruptly, he approaches us and interrupts. My heart was racing for the life of me when he started dancing with me again. My heart was racing for the life of me when he started dancing with me again. He murmured into my ears, "What is your name?". As though the offer was more of a game than a gesture, my lips formed a slightly confused smile. "What?" I mumble back into his ear as I sexily wrap myself around him. "Your men can't find anything about me, Daniel?
DANIELThere was an air of riches, extravagance, and deceit about the huge ballroom. Once more, my parents had organised one of their notorious high-society gatherings, bringing together the world's most influential individuals. But none of that matters to me at all. For the past two years, finding one woman—Rebel—had dominated my thoughts, my life, and my very being. Every time I believed I had her, she slipped through my fingers like an ethereal ghost, haunting me. She eluded my guys, the world's top trackers, who searched every nook and cranny on the planet. A phantom, a ghost, an assassin. She was more than her profession, though, in my opinion. I had her. My patience ran out tonight. I rejected all of the eligible women my mother had practically paraded in front of me. The piercing, burning energy of Rebel was unmatched by any of them. I stood at the bar and allowed the phoney laughing and shallow chatter to wash over me as the night wore on, drowning my annoyance in wine. Then I
REBELI darted through the dark hallways of the abandoned building, feeling the chill of the night bite into my skin. My movements were methodical, my breaths were shallow, and each one was measured. The knife grazed my side, causing a throb of pain. The hunters behind me could follow the small thread of blood that flowed to the ground. I was forced to continue moving. I was suddenly surrounded by people emerging from the shadows and in a corner. Instinctively, I reached for my belt, curling my fingers around my knife's hilt. I tense for their move, braced for battle. However, rather than attacking, a man moved forward and sliced through the crowd like a King among pawns. His features were calculating and crisp, and his clothing was immaculate. "Rebel," he whispered, his voice as calm and low as a storm's eye. "It has been a while." "Daniel," I spat, my voice full of poison. My vision faded before I could throw myself at him. The world tilted to one side as I was overcome with pain an
DANIELThere was tension so thick in the air, it was as if one could cut it with a knife. Rebel had been a whirlwind for three months since she arrived in my life, sneaking out, evading guards, and testing every limit I set. But I did think that finally she'd begun to understand that she wasn't a prisoner; her safety was simply not up for negotiation. Her previous organization had been brutal, and the coded signals we had intercepted had guaranteed us that her latest mission was to kill me. The irony was that she did not even realize it, or at least did not show it. Her movements of the past couple of days had been unusual. Silent. Too silent. It was not like her, and I did not think so. My second-in-command, Klaus, had discovered a lead: a man named Michael had been desperately trying to reach her. Only the name had made her pull further inside herself, blank-eyed into space. Michael was her adopted father, Klaus's investigation revealed. But I could sense that it wasn't the entire s
MICHAEL Except for the faint hum of the air conditioner, the room was eerily quiet. I sat with my hands resting on the polished oak of the conference table, looking at Daniel. He stood with a cocky ease, his posture deceptively casual, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. I could see why she was drawn to him; he was strong, confident, and had that intangible quality that screamed resilience—a quality Rebel would need in a partner if she was even capable of having one. She wasn't just a warrior; she was a weapon, a perfect one, honed to lethal precision. I'd made her that way, trained her to be superior to anyone or anything, and now she was, trusting this man was supposed to be her bulwark, her safe haven in the storm of her life, but was he her saviour or her doom? Rebel shifted next to him, her fingers twitching uneasily in her lap. She was always calm, a rock, but now, in front of me, she was unusually nervous. She should be; I could take down this whole room in a matter of se
REBELPiece by piece, the parasite gnawed away at my patience. Not the marble flooring, the lavish chandeliers, or even the dizzying city vistas from the penthouse windows, but rather being imprisoned in this rich jail, choked me. He was the one. Daniel. His obsessive urge to keep me "safe," his all-consuming infatuation, and his continual monitoring Secure? From what? The entire world? Me? He was unable to comprehend. Then there was his devoted friend Michael, who had likewise determined that I needed to be protected and pampered. Every move I took and every breath I took was tracked by the two of them. Months had passed. Months of oppressive attention to detail, guards following me like shadows, and Daniel's refusal To give me even a moment of solitude. However, tonight was different. Daniel had a crucial meeting that he was unable to cancel for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. His second-in-command, Klaus, was left to watch me while he was away. Klaus with his hundre
REBEL Daniel's face was expressionless, but I knew him too well to notice the concern he attempted to conceal. I had not said much since we'd gotten to the hospital. Since Michael had died in my arms. Since the world had stopped. But now, with a gentle, level voice, I broke the silence. "I want to see the bullet." Daniel's sharp eyes locked onto mine. "Rebel— "I want to see the bullet that murdered Michael." My voice was steady. It didn't shake, didn't quiver. "And I want you to get someone to organize a private funeral." He exhaled through his nose but nodded. He would do it, no questions asked. A piercing buzzing broke the silence. My eyes snapped to Michael's bedside. His phone was ringing. All of me stopped. The screen was cracked, the caller ID unknown. No one should be calling him. Not now. I extended, fingers brushing the cool surface as I answered it. Held it to my ear. Silence. A slow inhale. A soft exhale. Breathing. My stomach twisted into somethin
ROBERT I tightened my fists at my sides in the dimly lit room, my anger hardly restrained. Cigar smoke and authority weighed heavily in the air, my bosses' eyes pressing down on me like a freaking anvil. "Why the hell wasn't I informed?" My voice was razor-sharp, my anger hardly restrained. "Michael's death—who pulled the trigger? Who gave the order?" Silence. One of the men leaned back in his leather chair, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Your job isn't to ask questions, Robert. It's to follow orders." I laughed, shaking my head. "This is going to blow up in our faces. You have no clue what you just did. Rebel isn't going to grieve—she's going to explode. She's going to want vengeance. You think you can handle that? You think she'll just cry and move on?" One of them sighed, rubbing his temples as though he was already weary of this conversation. "We anticipated some reaction. But that is not your concern. You are a soldier, Robert. You do your role. Nothing more." I
JACQUE I had seen my daughter struggle. I had seen her anger, demand, and control, flexing the world to her will with nothing more than brute strength of presence. But I had never seen her like this. Broken. She sat upon this hospital bed, still clad in that gown which she had dressed for her grand debut to the world—the world which she had never desired to be a part of. It was to be her moment, her unveiling. She had been powerful, radiant, untouchable. Now, that same gown was in shreds. Blood seeped into the soft clothing, the velvet clinging to her skin as it seemed to jeer at the illusion of how the night was supposed to turn out. The deep red stained, darkening with each passing moment, blemishing her in ways the soap and shampoo would never succeed in eradicating. Michael's blood. Her father's blood. Yet she would not release him. I stood in the doorway, watching the woman that I had hunted all my life cling to the man who raised her. The man who loved her. The man wh
KLAUS The hospital room was full of despair. Rebel held onto Michael's lifeless body, her hands wrapped around his dead hand as if she could compel him back. She hadn't moved since we arrived. The doctors had abandoned all attempts to speak with her—any attempt to try to coax her away from him had yielded a fatal snarl and the glint of her eyes. No one was foolish enough to push her. Not even me. I stood in the doorway, arms folded, observing her. The hospital fluorescent light threw stark shadows across her white face, accentuating the desolation in her eyes. She was hardly breathing, trapped in a world of suffering known only to her. Michael was dead. That was a fact that could not be disputed. But Rebel? She wasn't just mourning—she was shattering. Daniel stood a few feet off, pacing, his annoyance barely contained. He rubbed his face repeatedly, cursing softly. Every other step, he'd look at Rebel, then at me, as if expecting I had some magic trick up my sleeve to resolve th
REBEL The ballroom was suffocating. A tsunami of A-list celebrities, flashing chandeliers, and razor-sharp suits. I could barely hear myself breathe over the buzz of expectation, the clinking of glasses, and the muffled classical music in the distance. This night was to be my grand entrance into society—Princess Beatricia Rhodes. My family. My pedigree. It felt so unreal and I feel so out of place but Michael is here. He stood a few feet away, his eyes fixed on me with that warm, gentle smile, the smile that had always made me feel safe. No matter how much chaos surrounded us, he had always been my shelter. My father. Not Jacque. Not the man who had only just learned I was alive. Michael had been there my whole life. Through scraped knees, through broken hearts, through all the bad choices and all the victories. And now he was standing there looking at me with pride. I could sense the lump forming in my throat as I steeled myself against glancing. Carly stood next
KLAUS Malls were not my thing. Nor was babysitting my best friend's crazier emotions or holding people back from going into a mess they had no business seeing. But here I was, standing in the middle of some high-end boutique, watching my wife, Catya, dig through dresses and keep a watchful eye on Carly Rhodes. Carly's arrival was not a surprise. I'd expected her to show up sooner or later. What surprised me was how damn determined she looked. Her back was straight, her eyes sharp, scanning the store like a mother ready to go rescue her kid. She had no clue what she was getting herself into. I did. Daniel just showed up, slipping into the dressing room behind Rebel. And I had made sure no one—above all, Carly—had entered upon them. I was standing in front of her now, an easy smile on my face, my stance casual but firm. "Carly," I said simply, "you have to give her space." Her eyes snapped to mine. "Space?" she said curtly, echoing me. "She's my daughter. I deserve a moment w
DANIEL I was bored. Not the boredom that comes from having nothing to do, but the kind that weighed heavy in my chest like a numbing pain, one that only had an antidote. Her. Rebel. I knew she was shopping with Catya—Michael had informed me. And while shopping wasn't exactly my forte, the thought of her being out there in crowds of people, getting ready for that ridiculous function her birth father was having… Didn't sit right with me. I wasn't stupid. I knew what Jacque Rhodes was doing. This wasn't just about presenting Rebel into the world as his heiress—this was about parading her in front of potential husbands. He wanted to match her up with someone he deemed fit. Someone who fit in his domain. And that sure as hell wasn't me. I clenched my teeth, my grip on the steering wheel firming as I parked in front of the boutique she was at. My car's tinted windows gave me an unhindered view of inside—Designer clothes, subdued lighting, and a handful of fashionable shoppers. An
MICHAEL I arrived ten minutes early to the restaurant. It was a habit I never quite broke, the urge to scope out a place before sitting down. Old habits don't die, not when you've spent years protecting someone. Rebel wasn't here yet, which didn't surprise me. She wasn't one who hurried into meetings, especially ones she hadn't agreed to attend in the first place. I had no doubt she was already deciding whether to step through that door or turn around and pretend she never got my message. The waiter stopped by, menu in hand, but I waved him away. I was busy looking at the door. And then, like clockwork, she walked in, shoulders squared, eyes slitted. She was dressed casually, but there was nothing casual about her. Rebel walked like a person on the hunt for a brawl. She spotted me immediately and walked over, she's wearing a short black dress and ankle boots. She gives me a hug and a peck before sliding across the seat from me. You look good," I said, inspecting her. She d
ROBERT The club was dark, throbbing with slow, hypnotic rhythms that shook the floor. The conversations were submerged under the music, and that was exactly why we were there. Somewhere like this guaranteed discretion—nobody paid attention to anyone unless they were half-naked or waving cash. I slid into the frayed leather booth in the back, my back against the wall. A waiter hovered nearby, but I pushed him aside. I wasn't here to drink. The man across from me, on the other hand, had a glass of whiskey in front of him, twirling it slowly like we had all the time in the world. He was older, around forty maybe, with a tailored suit that yelled money. There wasn't anything particularly conspicuous about him—no scars, no tattoos to flash, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd. That was precisely what made him so deadly. He was the kind of man who worked behind the scenes, the kind you did not see approaching until it was too late. "You're late," he said to me, voice smoo