The night was as dark as spilled ink, with a bright moon hanging high, casting a soft, silvery glow.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Two cars raced past at breakneck speed halfway up the mountain.
In the driver's seat, Belle Jackson face was icy cold. The sound of bullets whizzed dangerously close to her ears. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually calm, now glinted with frost, and her thin lips were pressed into a tight line. Her flawless Eastern features were twisted into a mask of grim determination.
It seemed Alex Jones was hell-bent on ending her life tonight.
After a sharp turn, Belle realized something was wrong with the steering wheel. She cursed herself for not thoroughly checking the car before setting out. If her instincts were right, the brakes were likely tampered with too. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at the Rolls-Royce tailing her in the rearview mirror.
Tonight, her mission was to eliminate a key accountant from a rival company—a man who held critical data. But Alex had unexpectedly intervened, throwing a wrench into her plans. The accountant had fled up the mountain in his car, but with her own vehicle compromised, Belle knew this night was far from over.
Inside the Rolls-Royce, Alex wore a bloodthirsty grin. "Belle, let's see how you get out of this one," she muttered under her breath. She had sabotaged both the steering and the brakes. So what if Belle was one of the family's most skilled operatives? In the end, she would meet her demise. And once she was gone, Alex would take her place.
Down below, the sound of gunfire echoed faintly as the Jones and Jackson families clashed in a fierce battle. Alex took aim and fired repeatedly at Belle's tires, her smile widening with each shot.
The car sped straight ahead, a sharp turn looming in the near distance. If it couldn’t stop, the inevitable outcome would be a plunge down the mountain, resulting in destruction and death.
Alex’s little scheme was laughably naive. Did she really think such a ploy could outsmart her? How utterly foolish.
In a moment of desperation, Belle reached into the car’s hidden compartment and pulled out a specially crafted hammer. But just as she was about to act, she hesitated.
This family was notorious for their heinous deeds. Perhaps... this was an opportunity.
With that thought, Belle paused, her hand still gripping the hammer. The car hurtled toward the turn, skimming dangerously close to the edge of the road.
"Boom—"
The car smashed through the guardrail and plummeted downward.
Without a second thought, Belle swung the hammer, shattering the window. She leaped out of the car, her body airborne just as the vehicle exploded in a deafening roar.
Flames surged into the sky, a wave of scorching heat washing over her. The crimson glow illuminated Alex’s face, twisted into a grotesque smile.
Alex watched the fire with glee, her eyes alight with satisfaction. The blaze was mesmerizing, its colors vivid and dazzling. How beautiful it was.
Down at the foot of the mountain, Belle’s subordinates heard the explosion. They looked up to see a fireball tearing through the night sky, as if trying to break free from the darkness.
The flames, a deep, blood-red, roared upward, relentless and fierce.
They paid little attention. Around them lay bodies—some their own, others from the Jones family. This battle had ended in a stalemate, with no clear victor.
Unbeknownst to them, behind that spectacular blaze, they had lost their leader.
...
The soft morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow across every corner of the room. In the bathroom, Belle stood before the mirror, her gaze dropping to the photograph in her hand. The resemblance between the two faces was uncanny—both had the same delicate oval-shaped face, fair skin, faint willow-leaf eyebrows, and eyes that were dark yet clear. Long hair cascaded down her back.
Belle's mind kept replaying the moment when the car had plummeted. She had calculated the distance perfectly, but then, out of nowhere, a charred bird had plummeted from the sky, slamming straight into her face. After that, she must have hit a rock, because everything had gone black. The memory made her expression darken further.
The girl in the photo was named Raisa. On the night of the accident, Raisa should have been in the United States. Belle had no idea what had happened, but somehow, they had mistaken her for Raisa and brought her back to the Spain. Pressing her lips together, Belle thought, *Since I'm here, I might as well make the best of it.*
The Taylor family—when she returned, it would be the end of them. A flicker of ruthlessness passed through her eyes. Her slender fingers tightened around the photo. *Raisa, I’ll borrow your identity for a while.*
...
Breakfast and lunch were both served in her room, with the excuse that she was too weak to move around much. Raisa saw right through this childish ploy. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Raisa continued eating without pause, her voice indifferent. "Come in."
A middle-aged man in a sharply tailored suit entered the room. Aman, Raisa's father, had married the current Lily after the passing of his first wife. Since Raisa's return, Lily had been nothing but a thorn in her side.
Raisa set down her chopsticks and stood up. "Dad."
Aman's face was filled with paternal warmth, his voice deep and steady. "Rey, still no memories coming back?"
Raisa shook her head.
When she had first been brought back, the doctor had diagnosed her with temporary amnesia due to a head injury. Needless to say, that doctor was a quack.
The disappointment on Aman's face was fleeting. "It's alright. If you can't remember, take your time. This whole situation is my fault for not thinking things through and putting you through all this."
Raisa's expression turned icy. "What situation?"
Seeing Aman's hesitation, she knew it couldn't be something trivial.
Aman sighed. "Rey, I know you were—"
"Dad."
Raisa's sharp interruption cut him off mid-sentence.
Aman gazed at his assertive daughter, sensing something different about her, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
"Not everything you hear is necessarily true," Raisa said, her voice calm but firm. She was sharp and perceptive, and from her father's reaction, she could guess that he had been swayed by someone's malicious gossip.
"Do you still think I lost my memory because I couldn’t handle what happened?" Her words struck a chord with Aman, who had indeed assumed she had been assaulted.
Aman remained silent, unsure how to broach such a sensitive topic.
Raisa pressed her lips together briefly before speaking again. "If you insist on believing that, I’m willing to go to the hospital for a check-up."
At this, Aman stood up abruptly. "Of course, I believe you," he said firmly. His daughter was pure and untainted by the world’s corruption, like a lotus rising from the mud.
Raisa also rose from the couch, her eyes locking onto her father’s with an intensity that was hard to ignore. "Then that’s all that matters. As long as you believe me, nothing else is important, right?"
Aman was momentarily taken aback, realizing that his thoughts had been steered by her words. He nodded slowly.
The warmth returned to Raisa’s gaze, as if the confrontational tone from moments ago had never existed.
"So, Dad, what brings you here so late?" she asked, her voice softening.
Aman suddenly remembered the purpose of his visit.
Clearing his throat to mask his earlier discomfort, he settled back onto the couch, regaining his composure and adopting the demeanor of a wise elder.
"Your sister feels that what happened in the U.S. was due to her lack of capability, so she’s enrolled in the Onos Academy," he explained.
Onos Academy—a prestigious private school known for its minimal focus on academics and heavy emphasis on weapons training. From what Raisa knew, the school’s background was far from ordinary.