I still can’t forget it.

Even after twelve years, it lingers like a nightmare that refuses to fade, replaying over and over in the quiet corners of my mind.

I was only ten when everything fell apart.

My parents fought every single day. Their voices became the background noise of my childhood sharp, painful, constant. It only got worse after my grandfather died. Something in our family broke along with him… and it never healed.

Then one day, my father left.

My mother loved him. I knew it, even as a child. I saw it in the way she cried, the way she begged him to stay. Sometimes… she even used me, hoping I could make him look at her again, choose her again.

But he didn’t.

Instead, they fought for custody of me. In the end, my father won. The court decided I would go with him leaving my mother with nothing.

Nothing… except one last day.

She begged for it. Just one more chance to be with me.

And he allowed it.

---

That day felt… perfect.

Like none of the pain ever existed.

She took me to amusement parks. We laughed, we played, we ate junk food like it was a celebration. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I had my mom back not the crying, broken version of her, but the warm, loving mother I remembered.

That day became the happiest memory of my childhood.

If only I knew…

It would be the last.

---

That night, we lay in bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

I looked up at her and asked,

“Mom… are you really leaving?”

She smiled so gently, brushing my hair back.

“No, baby,” she whispered. “I’ll always be in your heart. Remember that.”

Her words comforted me. I smiled.

“Can you read me a bedtime story?”

She nodded and picked up a book*Cinderella.*

“Once upon a time,” she began softly, “Cinderella was a kind girl, mistreated by her jealous stepmother and two stepsisters…”

Her voice was warm. Safe.

I didn’t even hear the ending.

I fell asleep in her arms.

I didn’t know… that would be the last time I would ever feel her embrace.

---

The next morning, everything seemed normal.

We packed my things. She helped me get ready. She smiled like nothing was wrong.

We got into the car to drive me back to my dad.

But somewhere along the way… something changed.

I remember the moment clearly.

Her expression shifted. Her hands tightened on the wheel.

“The brakes…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The car wouldn’t stop.

I looked at her, confused and scared.

She looked at me.

And in that moment… I saw it.

Not fear.

Not panic.

But a decision.

---

Everything happened so fast.

She reached over, unbuckled my seatbelt.

“Mom?” I started, my voice shaking.

Before I could finish

She opened the door.

And pushed me out.

---

I hit the ground hard, rolling across the road as the car kept moving.

Pain shot through my body, but I forced myself to look up.

Her car…

It didn’t stop.

It sped forward… then suddenly

**BOOM.**

A deafening explosion tore through the air.

The impact slammed into me again, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

Flames.

Smoke.

The car was gone consumed in fire.

And my mother…

She was inside.

---

I stared at it.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t scream.

I couldn’t even cry.

My vision blurred as everything faded to black.

--

Even now…

Twelve years later…

I still see it.

I still hear it.

I still feel her last hug.

Her last words.

“I’ll always be in your heart.”

And the truth is…

She never left.

Because every night

She comes back.

In my dreams.

...12 years later...

The plane hums beneath me as I open my eyes.

Reality hits the moment the flight attendant’s voice echoes through the cabin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived in Italy.”

Italy.

I exhale slowly, staring out the window as the city comes into view lights scattered like stars, beautiful… and dangerous.

This isn’t a trip.

This is a mission.

Why am I here?

Because I said yes.

Because I chose this.

Because twelve years ago, someone took everything from me

And now, I’m taking something back.

I step out of the airport, the cool Italian air brushing against my skin. People rush past me, dragging suitcases, greeting loved ones, living normal lives.

I don’t belong here.

Not in their world.

My phone buzzes.

A single message.

*Target confirmed.*

*Mr. Ian Dior.*

*Location will be sent soon.*

I stare at the name.

Ian Dior.

Known as the *“King of Hell”* in the underground mafia network of Italy.

Untouchable. Dangerous. Ruthless.

And me?

I’m the one sent to get close.

To extract information.

And if necessary

To kill him.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and continue walking.

That’s when it happens.

*Bump.*

I stagger slightly as someone collides with me.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quickly, not even meeting my eyes before hurrying away.

Too fast.

Too careless.

Too… familiar.

I freeze for half a second.

My instincts sharpen.

Something isn’t right.

I turn my head slightly, watching his back as he disappears into the crowd.

That feeling…

It crawls under my skin.

Like I’ve seen him before.

Like I *know* him.

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters except the mission.

I step out onto the street and raise my hand.

A taxi pulls over.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

“Amusement park,” I say shortly.

The driver nods, already pulling away.

Minutes later, I arrive.

Bright lights. Loud music. Laughter echoing everywhere.

The place is alive.

Children running. Couples smiling. Friends shouting over each other.

Happiness… everywhere.

And yet

My world feels distant.

Muted.

Like I’m watching everything from behind glass.

I walk slowly past the rides.

A carousel spins endlessly.

A roller coaster screams through the tracks.

People laugh.

Scream.

Call out to each other.

But none of it reaches me the same way.

It never does.

For a moment… I stop.

This place.

It feels familiar.

Too familiar.

A memory flickers.

A younger version of me.

Holding her hand.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Happy.

I blink.

And it’s gone.

I tighten my grip slightly and keep walking.

No distractions.

A small café catches my attention near the edge of the park.

Warm lights. Quiet atmosphere.

I step inside.

The smell of coffee fills the air.

I don’t like it.

Never did.

“Milk,” I say briefly.

The man behind the counter nods.

As he prepares it, I feel it.

His gaze.

Lingering.

Studying.

Uncomfortable.

I don’t look at him.

I don’t react.

But he keeps staring.

Like he’s seen something impossible.

Then

“Are you… Sarah?”

My body freezes for half a second.

Just a second.

But enough.

Sarah.

That name.

My name.

I look to him slowly, my expression already cold.

“No,” I reply flatly. “You’re mistaken.”

He pauses… then smiles apologetically.

“Oh… I’m sorry. You just look exactly like someone I used to know.”

I say nothing.

He continues, almost to himself

“Sarah… she went missing twelve years ago.”

My chest tightens.

But my face doesn’t change.

He steps closer, extending his hand.

“Hello. I’m Efi Salvor. I own this place.”

Friendly.

Too friendly.

I stare at his hand for a brief moment before answering.

“I’m Seirin Takahashi.”

A lie.

One of many.

I take my drink and turn toward the window.

Dark clouds gather outside.

Rain is coming.

“‘Takahashi?’” he repeats, curious. “You’re Japanese?”

I don’t respond.

Not because I didn’t hear him.

Rain pours harder as I walk away.

Cold. Steady. Relentless.

Just like everything else in my life.

I don’t stop.

I don’t look back.

By the time I reach my apartment, I’m soaked but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Not the rain.

Not the past.

Not even the name *Sarah* in my head.

I close the door behind me and lock it.

Silence.

Complete.

Comforting.

My phone vibrates.

Another message.

*New instruction:*

*Apply as secretary.*

*Ian Dior Company.*

*You need access.*

I stare at the screen.

So this is how it starts.

Not with a gun.

Not with blood.

But with a smile.

A lie.

A role to play.

I type one word.

*Understood.*

The next morning

I become someone else.

Hair tied neatly.

Formal clothes.

Light makeup.

Soft expression.

Harmless.

Forgettable.

Seirin Takahashi.

Secretary applicant.

Not a weapon.

Not a ghost.

Just a woman looking for a job.

The building stands tall in front of me.

Cold glass.

Sharp edges.

Untouchable.

Just like him.

Ian Dior.

I walk inside.

Every step controlled.

Every breath measured.

Reception.

“Name?” the woman asks.

“Seirin Takahashi,” I reply calmly.

She nods and gestures toward the elevators.

“Top floor. Interviews are ongoing.”

Perfect.

I step inside the elevator.

Alone.

For now.

The doors begin to close

Then suddenly

A hand stops them.

The elevator opens again.

And he walks in.

My breath almost stops.

Just for a second.

Him.

The man from the airport.

The one who bumped into me.

He doesn’t even look at me this time.

Like I’m just another stranger.

He steps inside calmly.

Relaxed.

Different.

The doors close.

Silence fills the elevator.

I glance at him just briefly.

And something feels… off.

He’s not tense.

Not sharp like before.

He looks… normal.

“You going to the top floor?” he asks casually.

I pause for a second.

Then nod.

“Yes.”

He smiles slightly.

Polite.

Gentle.

“I figured. Interviews, right?”

I blink.

That wasn’t the reaction I expected.

“Yes,” I answer shortly.

“Good luck,” he says.

Simple.

Kind.

The elevator continues rising.

And for the first time

He looks like someone completely different from the man in the airport

Then—

Ding.

The doors open.

Top floor.

We step out together.

And that’s when everything changes.

“Good morning, sir!”

Voices suddenly fill the hallway.

Staff bow slightly as they pass him.

Respect.

Immediate.

Absolute.

I stop.

My eyes widen just slightly.

Sir?

He walks forward like it’s nothing.

Like this is normal.

Like this is his world.

Then someone approaches him quickly.

“Mr. Dior, your meeting is ready.”

My heart stops.

Mr.

Dior.

No.

My gaze snaps back to him.

The man from the airport.

The man from the elevator.

Ian Dior.

The *target.*

And yet—

He smiles warmly at the staff.

“Give me five minutes,” he says gently.

“No need to rush.”

Gentle.

Calm.

Nothing like the rumors.

Nothing like the *King of Hell.*

I stand there, frozen.

This isn’t the man I expected.

Not cold.

Not cruel.

But composed.

Polite.

Almost… kind.

It doesn’t make sense.

He turns slightly

And for a brief moment, our eyes meet again.

No recognition.

No suspicion.

Just a simple glance.

Like I’m no one.

Like I don’t exist.

Good.

That’s exactly what I need.

I lower my gaze and continue walking toward the interview room.

But inside

Everything is shifting.

Because the man I came to destroy…

Is nothing like the monster I imagined.

And somehow

That makes him even more dangerous.

__

The waiting room is quiet.

Too quiet.

Applicants sit in perfect rows, resumes clutched tightly in their hands. Some whisper to themselves. Some rehearse smiles.

Nervous.

Hopeful.

I sit among them.

Still.

Calm.

Different.

This isn’t a job interview.

This is infiltration.

One by one, names are called.

One by one, they walk in

And come out looking either relieved…

Or defeated.

Time passes.

Slowly.

Then

The door opens again.

But instead of an assistant

He walks in.

Ian Dior.