Chapter 1 — The Whispered Betrayal

Isabella

The Élysée Estate stood cloaked in an eerie stillness, its ivy-clad walls and wrought-iron balconies bathed in the pale glow of the moon. The faint strains of classical music filtered through the air, mingling with the acrid scent of cigar smoke that clung to the shadows of Albelino’s domain. Inside, the marble halls gleamed coldly, their opulence sterile and unwelcoming, masking the rot that festered beneath.

Isabella moved through the shadowed corridor like a wraith, her footsteps a whisper against the polished floor. Her senses were sharp, her breath steady. The summons had come earlier that evening—a terse message delivered by one of Albelino’s men, the urgency in his voice betraying unease. A private meeting, he had called it. A discussion about her future in the organization. The words pricked at her mind like thorns, their weight unsettling. Arriving early and unseen, she had slipped through the labyrinthine passages of the estate, her instincts guiding her. In this world, words often hid knives.

She pressed her back against the cold stone wall outside Albelino’s study, her green eyes fixed on the faint glow spilling from the crack beneath the heavy oak door. Voices carried through the still air, low and deliberate, their edges sharp with menace. She strained to catch the words, her body taut as a coiled spring.

“She’s outlived her usefulness,” Albelino said, his voice smooth and paternal, yet laced with venom sharp enough to carve through her chest. “Isabella is no longer an asset. She’s a liability.”

The words struck her like a blade, her breath hitching despite her iron control. She forced herself to remain still, her fingers gripping the edge of the wall as though anchoring herself to reality.

“Do you really think she’s capable of betrayal?” another voice asked—one of his lieutenants, a man she had never trusted. His tone was cautious, hesitant, as if testing the waters of Albelino’s patience. “She’s been loyal for years.”

“Loyalty is a transient thing,” Albelino replied with a condescending chuckle. “She was like a daughter to me once, yes. But sentiment has no place in our world. She asks too many questions now, makes decisions without approval. Independence in my ranks is a disease, and I will not let it spread.”

Her nails dug into her palms as the words seeped into her bones. The man who had plucked her from the wreckage of her childhood, who had shaped her into the perfect weapon, now spoke of her as though she were nothing more than a dull blade to be discarded. Albelino’s cold pragmatism was no surprise, but to hear him speak of her this way—without hesitation, without regret—cut deeper than she could have imagined.

“What do you propose, then?” the lieutenant asked reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Eliminate her,” Albelino said simply, as though discussing the weather. “Quietly. Swiftly. I don’t want her disappearance to raise questions. She’ll be replaced before anyone notices she’s gone.”

The fire in the study crackled faintly, filling the silence that followed. Then, Albelino’s voice dropped, colder than before. “She’s dangerous because I made her dangerous. See to it that she doesn’t have the chance to use those skills against me.”

Isabella didn’t wait to hear more. Her muscles tightened as she slipped away from the door, each step deliberate and silent. Her mind raced, the echoes of Albelino’s words cutting through her thoughts. A thousand emotions surged within her—rage, grief, disbelief—all colliding with the cold clarity of survival. She had always known trust was a fragile thing in their world, but this? This was betrayal in its most brutal form.

Reaching her quarters, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest rising and falling as the weight of what she had overheard settled over her. Her eyes drifted to the room around her, to the remnants of a life built on lies. She tried to suppress the flicker of memories: Albelino teaching her to fight, his rare words of praise, the illusion of safety she had clung to for so long. But those moments turned to ash now, their warmth soured by his casual decision to end her life.

Her gaze fell on the desk across the room. There, glinting in the dim light, lay *L’Étreinte*, the dagger Albelino had given her when she completed her first mission. The sleek blade, etched with ivy patterns, rested atop *The Red Ledger*, its leather cover worn from years of handling. Together, the items seemed to mock her—a reminder of the loyalty she had given and the betrayal she had received.

She approached the desk, her fingers brushing the dagger’s hilt. Its weight was familiar, grounding. Once, it had symbolized loyalty. Now, it was a reminder of her naivety. Her grip tightened as she thought of the lives she had taken with it, each one in service to a man who now sought her death. The ledger beneath it, filled with cryptic notes and names, held the potential to dismantle his empire. She had stolen it weeks ago, suspecting its importance, but now she knew she would need its secrets to survive.

There was no time for hesitation. The Élysée Estate, with its gilded halls and suffocating elegance, had become a cage. She strapped the dagger to her thigh and slipped the ledger into her jacket, her movements precise and deliberate. Her resolve hardened with each step.

The corridors stretched endlessly before her as she maneuvered through the estate, her footsteps soundless against the marble floors. The faint strains of music still drifted from the distant hall, a haunting echo of the life she was leaving behind. She avoided the wandering guards with practiced ease, her mind cataloging every turn, every shadow. This had been her home once. Now, it was her enemy.

Near the outer gardens, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She froze, her breath shallow, her hand brushing the hilt of her dagger. The faint hum of approaching footsteps quickened her pulse. She pressed herself into the shadows, waiting.

A guard rounded the corner, his silhouette illuminated briefly by a shaft of moonlight. She struck swiftly, her arm locking around his throat, her blade pressed against his neck.

“Say a word, and it will be your last,” she hissed, her voice low and cold.

The man stiffened but remained silent. With a swift blow to his temple, she rendered him unconscious. Guilt flickered faintly—he was just a pawn in Albelino’s game—but she pushed it aside. Regret could wait. Survival could not.

The gardens stretched before her, their manicured hedges and glittering fountains bathed in moonlight. The cool night air was sharp against her skin, but it offered no comfort. Every shadow held danger. Every step was a calculated risk.

She moved quickly, navigating the estate’s defenses with the precision of someone who had memorized its every weakness. The hidden passage at the edge of the gardens was concealed behind a tangle of ivy, its entrance nearly invisible. She slipped inside, the darkness enveloping her. The damp air carried the scent of earth and decay, the narrow walls pressing close as she navigated the twisting path. Once, these tunnels had symbolized security. Now, they felt like the veins of a dying beast, leading her away from its poisoned heart.

When she emerged on the other side, the city of Lyon stretched out before her, its lights scattered like stars against the dark horizon. She paused, her heart pounding, her breath steadying. Freedom lay ahead, but it was fleeting. Albelino would hunt her. He would send his men, his spies, his whispers, until she was silenced. Unless she acted first.

Her grip on the dagger tightened as her resolve solidified. Albelino had made her dangerous. Now, he would face the consequences of his creation.

Slipping into the shadows of the city, Isabella disappeared, her next move already forming in her mind. She would fight. She would dismantle his empire, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the man who had sought to control her. And then, she would reclaim what was hers.