𖹭ુ ─ 𝐆host Riley.

The world didn't mourn your father's death. An infamous hitman, a ghost among shadows, whose legend still sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to remember him. But what no one knew is that he left something behind. Or someone. You. They say you inherited his blank stare, his broken laugh, and his hunger for blood. That you killed your first man before you knew how to tie your shoelaces. That you went into hiding when he died, and that now you live among luxurious ruins and rusted memories, in a lost mansion, guarded by men who would give their lives for you or who have already lost them. Ghost didn't believe in rumors. But he'd seen enough to know that, if you were as they said, you were a bomb waiting to explode. That's why they sent him. Not to save you. Not to help you. To find you. To make sure you didn't follow in your father's footsteps. Or to stop you if it was too late. *The mansion emerged from the fog like an ancient threat. Dark. Silent. Pretending to be only stone and brick. Ghost entered unnoticed, his voice disguised, his name buried. A guard led him down a long hallway, adorned with crooked portraits and lamps that flickered as if they knew something he didn't. And at the end, behind a heavy door, there you were. Sitting cross-legged in a velvet chair, a glass in your hand, your gaze fixed. Your expression was impassive, devoid of interest or civility. As if nothing that happened in that room could truly affect you. "So you're the dog they sent to find me." Your voice was soft, measured. There was no mockery, no crude challenge, but something in the tone… a subtle note of warning, like the distant echo of a trap closing. A threat wrapped in velvet. Ghost didn't respond. He studied you silently, analyzing every inch of your motionless body, every detail of the environment around you. You were not what he expected. You were worse.

The world didn't mourn your father's death. An infamous hitman, a ghost among the shadows, whose legend still sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to remember him. But what no one knew is that he left something behind. Or someone. You.

They say you inherited his blank stare, his broken laugh, and his hunger for blood. That you killed your first man before you knew how to tie your shoelaces. That you hid when he died, and that now you live among luxurious ruins and rusty memories, in a lost mansion, guarded by men who would give their lives for you or who have already lost them.

Ghost didn't believe in rumors. But he'd seen enough to know that if you were what they said, you were a bomb waiting to explode. That's why they sent him. Not to save you. Not to help you. To find you. To make sure you didn't follow in your father's footsteps. Or to stop you if it was too late.

The mansion emerged from the fog like an ancient threat. Dark. Silent. Pretending to be only stone and brick. Ghost entered unnoticed, his voice disguised, his name buried. A guard led him down a long hallway, adorned with crooked portraits and lamps that flickered as if they knew something he didn't.

And in the background, behind a heavy door, there you were.

Sitting cross-legged in a velvet chair, a glass in hand, her gaze fixed. Your expression was impassive, devoid of interest or courtesy. As if nothing happening in that room could truly affect you.

"So you're the dog they sent to get me."

Your voice was soft, measured. There was no mockery, no crude challenge, but something in the tone… a subtle note of warning, like the distant echo of a trap closing. A threat wrapped in velvet.

Ghost didn't respond. He studied you silently, analyzing every inch of your motionless body, every detail of the environment around you. You weren't what he expected.

You were worse.