Chapter 1: The Devil’s Bargain

The skyline of Manhattan looked different when you weren’t viewing it through the scope of a sniper rifle. It looked peaceful. Deceptive.

I stood in the center of Wade Jenkins’ penthouse office on 57th Street. The air smelled of old leather, expensive scotch, and absolute power. Wade was eighty years old, sitting in a wheelchair that likely cost more than the average American home, but his eyes were sharp. Predatory.

“Kenny tells me you’re hesitant,” Wade said, his voice a gravelly rasp.

“He says ‘Silverwing’ doesn’t do domestic disputes.”

I didn’t flinch at the code name. I hadn’t heard it in six months. Not since I buried that life in the muddy waters of the Mekong Delta.

“Silverwing is dead, Mr. Jenkins. I’m just Julie Lane now. And I didn’t come back to New York to babysit.”

“No,” Wade chuckled, spinning a heavy gold ring on his finger.

“You came back for the Lane Corporation. Your mother’s legacy. The company your stepmother, Linda, and that viper of a stepsister, Tiffany, stole from you after they shipped you off to ‘boarding school’ in Myanmar.”

He knew everything. Of course he did. He was Wade Jenkins. The man who practically built New York.

“They didn’t send me to boarding school,” I said softly.

“They sold me to a militia. They thought I’d die. They were wrong.”

“Exactly.” Wade wheeled himself closer.

“You survived. You thrived. You became the most efficient cleaner in Southeast Asia. That is exactly why I need you.”

He tossed a folder onto the desk. A photo slid out. It showed a young man stumbling out of a club called The Void, champagne bottle in hand, paparazzi swarming him. He was devastatingly handsome—classic American jawline, messy dark hair, eyes that looked like shattered glass.

Colin Jenkins. The sole heir. The Crown Prince of Manhattan.

“My grandson is destroying himself,” Wade said, the bravado fading into genuine grief.

“Gambling, women, reckless driving. He’s bleeding the family trust dry. But worse, he has no survival instinct. The sharks are circling, Julie. If I die, they will eat him alive. He needs a keeper. Someone who can’t be bought, scared, or seduced.”

“You want a bodyguard,” I said.

“I want a wife.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Marry him. Keep him alive for one year. Rein him in. Teach him discipline. Do that, and I will hand you the majority shares of the Lane Corporation on a silver platter. You can crush your stepmother with a single signature.”

It was a deal with the devil. But it was the only way to get back what belonged to my mother without leaving a trail of bodies.

“Deal,” I said.

---

The setup was theatrical, even for a billionaire.

Four hours later, I stood in the master bedroom of the Jenkins Estate in the Hamptons. The room was staged perfectly. Medical equipment beeped rhythmically. Wade lay in bed, looking like a corpse, his skin dusted with pale powder.

The doors burst open.

“Grandpa!”

Colin Jenkins didn’t walk; he stormed. He brought the chaos of the city with him—the smell of stale smoke and designer cologne. He rushed to the bedside, his face twisted in panic. For all his tabloid antics, he loved the old man. That was his weakness.

“I’m here, Wade. I’m here,” Colin choked out, gripping the old man’s hand.

“Stop playing around. You were fine at breakfast.”

“Colin…” Wade acted the part perfectly, his voice a weak whisper.

“My time… is up. The doctors say… tonight.”

“Bullshit,” Colin snapped, though his eyes were wet.

“I’ll fly in specialists from Zurich. I’ll buy the hospital.”

“Money can’t buy time, boy,” Wade wheezed. He gestured a trembling hand toward me. I was standing in the shadows, wearing a plain white sundress I’d bought at Target an hour ago.

“My only dying wish… is to see you safe. Married. Julie… she’s a good girl. Marry her… or I can’t let go in peace.”

Colin spun around. His gaze hit me like a physical blow. He scanned me from head to toe—my scuffed sneakers, my lack of jewelry, my calm face. To him, I was nothing. A gold-digger. A nobody.

“Her?” Colin spat.

“She looks like she teaches Sunday school. You want me to marry this mute?”

“Promise me,” Wade gasped, staging a convulsion. The heart monitor sped up—probably controlled by a remote under the blanket.

“Fine!” Colin screamed, slamming his fist into the wall. Plaster cracked.

“Fine! I’ll marry her! Just stay alive, dammit!”

“Good,” Wade whispered, then miraculously stabilized.

“The chaplain is downstairs. Go.”

---

The marriage was signed on a piece of paper in the estate’s library. No rings. No vows. Just cold ink.

Once the chaplain left, Colin turned on me. The grief was gone, replaced by a cold, simmering rage. He poured himself a bourbon, his hand shaking slightly.

“Let’s get one thing straight, ‘Mrs. Jenkins’,” he said, walking up to me. He was tall, looming over my five-foot-three frame. He tried to use his size to intimidate me. He didn’t know I’d taken down men twice his size with a ballpoint pen.

“I’m listening,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“Rule one: You don’t exist to me. You stay in your room. Rule two: In a year, we divorce, and you tell everyone it was your fault. Rule three…”

He leaned down, his breath hot on my ear.

“No physical contact. Ever. If you think you can use your body to trap me, you’re delusional.”

I looked up at him. I saw the fear behind the aggression. He was a boy pretending to be a wolf.

“I have rules too, Colin,” I said.

He laughed, shocked.

“You have rules?”

“Rule one: Don’t die. Rule two: Don’t insult my intelligence. Rule three…” I reached out and adjusted his crooked collar. He flinched, but I was faster. I smoothed the fabric, my fingers lingering near his carotid artery for a split second—a silent warning he didn’t even understand.

“If you bring trouble to my doorstep,” I whispered, “I will finish it. And you won’t like how I do it.”

I walked away, leaving him stunned in the middle of the library.

Chapter 2: Ghosts of the Upper East Side

The Lane Family mansion hadn’t changed. It was a sprawling Georgian townhouse on the Upper East Side, oozing old money and new secrets. It was where I was born. It was where my mother died.

And it was where Linda and Tiffany lived.

I stood on the sidewalk the next morning. I hadn’t told Colin where I was going. He was probably passed out somewhere. I needed to retrieve something—a small box my mother had hidden under the floorboards of my old room.

I rang the bell.

The maid who answered wasn’t one I recognized.

“Delivery?” she asked, looking at my jeans and plain t-shirt.

“No. I’m Julie Lane. I’m here to see Linda.”

The maid’s eyes widened. She tried to close the door, but I placed my foot in the jamb. A gentle pressure, immovable as a mountain. I pushed the door open and walked in.

“Who let the stray dog in?”

The voice drifted down from the spiraling staircase. Tiffany Lane. She was twenty-two now, draped in Chanel, clutching a toy poodle. She looked exactly like her mother—beautiful on the outside, rotting on the inside.

“Hello, Tiffany,” I said.

“Mom!” Tiffany shrieked, her voice grating. “The ghost is back!”

Linda Lane emerged from the living room, holding a glass of Chardonnay at 10 AM. She hadn’t aged well; the plastic surgery was tight around her eyes. When she saw me, her face twisted into a mask of disgust.

“Julie,” Linda sneered.

“I thought you died in the jungle. We certainly paid enough to ensure it.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I said, walking past them toward the stairs.

“I’m just here for my things.”

“Your things?” Tiffany laughed, skipping down the stairs to block my path.

“You have nothing here. We burned your trash years ago. Your room is my walk-in closet now.”

“Get out,” Linda commanded.

“Before I call security. You’re trespassing.”

“This is my father’s house,” I said, my patience thinning.

“And half this company is legally mine.”

“Your father is senile in a nursing home, and you…” Tiffany stepped closer, poking a manicured finger into my chest.

“You are nothing. A reject. A loser. Look at you. You dress like a homeless person. Did you come back to beg for money?”

She poked me again. Harder.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. My voice dropped an octave.

“Or what?” Tiffany sneered. She raised her hand to slap me. It was a slow, telegraphed move. Pathetic.

Instinct took over.

Before her palm could graze my cheek, I caught her wrist. I didn’t just hold it; I applied pressure to the ulnar nerve. Tiffany gasped, her knees buckling as pain shot up her arm.

“Let go!” she screamed.

“You let go,” I said calmly.

Linda shrieked and lunged at me, swinging her heavy wine glass toward my head.

I didn’t panic. I didn’t even blink. I sidestepped, using Tiffany’s body as a shield. Linda stopped just in time, stumbling. I swept my leg out—a controlled low kick—knocking Linda’s feet out from under her. She landed on the Persian rug with a heavy thud, wine splashing across her white silk blouse.

I released Tiffany, shoving her onto the couch.

The room went silent. The maid was cowering in the hallway.

“You… you monster!” Linda gasped, clutching her hip. “You assaulted us! I’ll have you arrested!”

I crouched down, eye-level with Linda. My expression was blank. Cold. This wasn’t the scared little girl they sent away ten years ago.

“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “I’m not here to fight you. Not yet. But if you touch me again, if you send anyone after me, I won’t just trip you. I will break every bone in your hands. Do you understand?”

Linda stared at me. For the first time, I saw genuine terror in her eyes. She saw the change. She saw the killer behind the daughter.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I’m the consequences of your actions,” I said.

I stood up and dusted off my jeans.

“I’m taking back the company, Linda. The shareholder meeting is next month. Be ready.”

I turned and walked out. I didn’t get my mother’s box. That would have to wait. Right now, I needed to make sure they knew the war had started.

As I exited the front door, my phone buzzed. A text from Wade’s head of security, a man named Kenny (different from the lawyer).

Location Alert: Colin Jenkins. The Vault Club. 11:00 AM. He’s starting trouble.

I sighed. One war at a time.

Chapter 3: Bourbon and Bullets

The Vault wasn’t a dance club. It was a members-only fortress in Tribeca where Wall Street brokers and trust fund kids went to burn money without judgment.

I walked past the bouncer. He tried to stop me, saw the Black Card Wade had given me, and practically bowed.

Inside, the lighting was low, the music was a thumping deep house bass, and the smell of money was everywhere. I found Colin in the VIP section. He was with his usual entourage: Marcus “Mac” O’Reilly, a hedge fund manager who laughed too loud, and a few hangers-on looking for free drinks.

Colin was already drunk. It was noon.

He was standing on a velvet couch, holding a bottle of Dom Pérignon like a trophy.

“I’m telling you, Mac! The old man lost it! He married me off to a nun! A literal nun!”

The group roared with laughter.

“Does she make you pray before bed?” Mac jeered, slapping Colin on the back.

“She probably prays I don’t touch her!” Colin shouted.

“But don’t worry, boys. I’m not changing. The party doesn’t stop just because I signed a paper!”

I stepped into the light.

“Actually, the party stops now.”

The music seemed to cut out for the group. Colin froze. He looked down at me, blinking hazy eyes.

“You? How did you… did you put a tracker on me?”

“You’re my husband,” I said, voice carrying over the music.

“And you look pathetic.”

The table went quiet. Mac whistled low.

“Ouch. This the wifey, Colin? She’s got claws.”

Colin’s face turned red. He jumped down from the couch, swaying slightly.

“You don’t tell me what to do. You’re a prop, Julie. A prop! Go home and knit something.”

“We’re going home,” I said, grabbing his arm.

He yanked it away violently.

“I’m not going anywhere. In fact, we were just heading downstairs. To the range. You know what a gun is, Julie? Or are you too scared of loud noises?”

He was baiting me. He wanted to humiliate me in front of his friends.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Colin blinked.

“What?”

“The range. If I beat you, you come home. No complaints.”

Mac laughed hysterically.

“Colin, she’s challenging you! The girl who looks like she’s afraid of her own shadow wants a shoot-off!”

Colin smirked, a cruel, arrogant twist of his lips.

“You’re on. But let’s make it interesting. If you lose… you disappear. You leave the apartment, you leave my life. I don’t care what Wade says.”

“And if I win?” I asked.

“You won’t,” he scoffed.

“But if by some miracle you do… I’ll do whatever you say for a week.”

“Deal.”

---

The underground shooting range at The Vault was state-of-the-art. Soundproof glass, automated targets, the smell of cordite and gun oil. It was a scent that usually calmed me. Today, it just annoyed me.

Colin selected a custom 9mm Beretta. He was shaky, but I knew he was a decent shot. He’d been hunting since he was six.

“Ladies first,” he mocked, gesturing to the lane.

I picked up a standard Glock 17 rental. It felt clunky in my hand, the balance slightly off. I didn’t check the sights. I didn’t take a stance. I just stood there, letting my arms hang loose.

“Five shots,” Mac announced.

“Highest score wins.”

Colin stepped up. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his drunken sway. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The target slid forward.

“Three tens, two nines!” Mac shouted.

“Forty-eight out of fifty! damn, Colin! Even drunk, you’re a sniper!”

Colin blew the smoke from his barrel, grinning at me.

“Top that, sweetheart. Or better yet, just give up now and save yourself the embarrassment.”

I stepped into the booth. My heartbeat didn’t change. It was resting at 60 beats per minute.

I raised the gun. I didn’t close one eye. I didn’t hesitate.

Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.

Five shots in under two seconds. The sound was a continuous rip in the air.

The target didn’t move.

Mac squinted down the range.

“Uh… did she miss?”

Colin burst out laughing.

“She missed the whole paper! Look at it! It’s clean!”

I pressed the button to bring the target back. As it slid closer, the laughter died.

The paper was clean. Except for one jagged, gaping hole right in the center of the bullseye.

“No way,” Mac whispered.

“She missed four times?”

“Check the replay,” I said, my voice bored.

The monitor above us flickered to life. The high-speed camera showed the truth. The first bullet hit the dead center. The second bullet went through the hole of the first bullet. The third, fourth, and fifth followed the exact same trajectory.

I had put five rounds through a single hole the size of a dime.

Silence engulfed the room. Even the ventilation system seemed to stop.

Colin stared at the monitor, his mouth slightly open. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a cold shock. He looked at the screen, then at the gun in my hand, then at me.

“Who are you?” he whispered, echoing his aunt’s question from earlier.

“I’m your wife,” I said, placing the gun down on the counter with a metallic click.

“And you owe me a week.”

I turned to leave.

“Get in the car, Colin. I’m driving.”

For the first time in his life, Colin Jenkins didn’t argue. He just followed.

But as we walked out, I saw him looking at my hands. He wasn’t just scared anymore. He was intrigued. And that was dangerous. I didn’t need him to like me. I needed him to survive.

But the way he looked at me… it felt like the start of a different kind of trouble.

“Wait,” Colin said, stopping near the exit.

I turned.

“What?”

“You missed one thing,” he said, a strange intensity in his eyes.

“The bet wasn’t just about going home. You said you’d tame me.”

He stepped closer, invading my space again, but this time it felt different. Less bullying, more… searching.

“You think a gun trick changes anything?” he murmured.

“I’m still a mess, Julie. You can’t fix me.”

I looked him dead in the eye.

“I don’t fix things, Colin. I eliminate threats. And right now, your biggest threat is yourself.”

I opened the car door.

“Get in.”

Chapter 4: The Masquerade

The “week of obedience” Colin owed me began with the annual Met Gala for the Jenkins Foundation.

Usually, Colin would show up drunk, with a model on each arm, making a spectacle for Page Six. Tonight, he stood in the foyer of our penthouse, sober, adjusting his silk bowtie in the mirror. He looked at me through the reflection. His eyes weren’t angry anymore. They were calculating.

“You know,” he said, watching me step out of the dressing room.

“People are going to talk. I don’t bring ‘wives’ to these things.”

I was wearing a backless emerald gown that clung to me like a second skin. It hid the scar on my shoulder from a shrapnel wound in Jakarta. It hid the knife strapped to my thigh.

“Let them talk,” I said, handing him his jacket.

“Tonight isn’t about fun, Colin. It’s a show of force. The board members will be there. Your aunt Linda will be there. We need to look untouchable.”

He turned to face me. For a second, his hand hovered near my waist, then dropped.

“You talk like a general, not a debutante. Where did you learn to think like this? Boarding school?”

“Survival school,” I corrected.

The gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The flashbulbs blinded us as we stepped out of the black SUV. Colin automatically put on his charming billionaire smile, waving to the press. But I felt the tension in his arm linked with mine.

Inside, the sharks were circling.

Linda and Tiffany were holding court near the Temple of Dendur. When they saw us, Linda’s glass froze halfway to her mouth. Tiffany looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

“Well,” Linda said, her voice dripping with fake honey as we approached.

“If it isn’t the happy couple. I heard about your little… stunt at the shooting range, Julie. Beginners luck?”

“Beginners stay alive, Linda,” I smiled, sipping my sparkling water.

“Experts get complacent.”

“Is that a threat?” Tiffany snapped.

“It’s financial advice,” Colin cut in. His voice was sharp, authoritative. It surprised all of us. He stepped slightly in front of me, shielding me from them.

“I’ve been looking at the Lane Corporation’s books, Linda. There’s a lot of money moving to offshore accounts in the Caymans. We’ll be auditing those tomorrow.”

Linda went pale.

“You have no right—”

“I have every right,” Colin said, leaning in.

“She’s my wife. Her assets are my concern. And if I find a single penny missing, I’ll bury you in lawsuits until you’re selling this fake Chanel on eBay.”

I stared at Colin’s back. He wasn’t doing this because of the deal. He was doing it because he was angry for me.

He took my hand.

“Come on, Julie. The air stinks over here.”

As we walked away, he squeezed my fingers.

“How did I do?”

“Adequate,” I said, fighting a smile.

“Just adequate?” He grinned.

Then, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The instinct. The “Silverwing” sense.

I stopped abruptly, scanning the crowd. Waiters moving with trays. Musicians. Security.

My eyes locked on a waiter near the exit. He wasn’t looking at the guests. He was looking at Colin. And his hand was reaching under his serving jacket.

“Down!” I screamed.

I tackled Colin to the marble floor just as the champagne glass in his hand shattered, obliterated by a silenced bullet.

Chapter 5: Blood on the Marble

Chaos erupted.

Screams echoed off the Egyptian stone walls. The crowd stampeded.

“Stay down!” I ordered Colin, pressing his head against the cold floor.

“What the hell was that?” he yelled, his face pale.

“Professional hit,” I said. My eyes darted around. Two shooters. One near the exit, one moving from the balcony. They weren’t here to scare us. They were here to liquidate the heir.

“We need to move,” I said.

“Crawl. Now.”

We scrambled behind a heavy stone sarcophagus. Another bullet chipped the granite inches from my face.

“Julie, you’re bleeding!” Colin touched my cheek. A shard of stone had cut me.

“Focus, Colin. Do you trust me?”

He looked at the chaos, then at me.

“Yes.”

“Stay here. Count to ten. Then run for the service exit.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to resign from the pacifist club.”

I ripped the slit of my dress higher to free my movement. I didn’t have a gun. But I had the environment.

I moved like smoke. I slid out from cover, sprinting toward the first shooter. He saw me, raised his weapon, but I was already sliding across the polished floor. I kicked his kneecap—a sickening crunch echoed—and as he fell, I grabbed a silver serving tray from a fallen table.

He fired. The bullet sparked off the silver tray.

I slammed the edge of the heavy metal tray into his throat. He went down, gasping. I grabbed his gun.

One down.

The second shooter was on the balcony, aiming for where I’d left Colin.

I didn’t hesitate. I raised the stolen pistol. No stance, no breath check. Just pure muscle memory.

Bang.

The shooter on the balcony tumbled over the railing, landing in the decorative pool below.

Silence fell over the room. The guests were cowering. The music had stopped.

I stood in the center of the destruction, chest heaving, gun at my side. I looked like a demon—blood on my cheek, dress torn, holding a weapon like it was an extension of my hand.

I turned to find Colin.

He was standing by the sarcophagus. He wasn’t running. He was watching me. He had seen everything. The efficiency. The brutality. The way I killed without blinking.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

I dropped the gun and walked over to him.

“Are you hurt?”

He grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight.

“Who are you?”

“I told you,” I whispered, adrenaline crashing, making my hands shake for the first time. “I’m the one who keeps you alive.”

“Julie!” He pulled me into a hug. It wasn’t a romantic movie hug. It was desperate. He buried his face in my neck.

“You’re insane. You’re terrifying.”

“I know.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” he murmured against my skin.

Then, a slow clap echoed from the entrance.

We turned. Linda was standing there, surrounded by three large men. She wasn’t scared. She was smiling.

“Bravo,” she said.

“I knew the little orphan had claws. But you can’t shoot your way out of this one, Julie. The police are coming, and guess whose fingerprints are on the murder weapon?”

She pointed to the gun I just dropped.

“I have video,” Linda hissed.

“Of you murdering two ‘security guards’ I hired to protect the event. Self-defense? Maybe. But by the time the lawyers are done, your grandfather will be dead from the stress and Colin will be destitute.”

“You set this up,” Colin roared, stepping forward.

“I secured the future of the company,” Linda spat.

“Give up the shares, Julie. Or go to prison.”

Chapter 6: The Queen’s Gambit

The interrogation room at the NYPD precinct was cold. I sat handcuffed to the table. Colin was in the next room, yelling at his lawyers.

Linda had played a good game. The men I shot were technically licensed private security on her payroll. She framed it as a psychotic break on my part.

The door opened.

But it wasn’t a detective. It was Wade Jenkins.

He walked in. No wheelchair. No cane. He looked like a titan in a wool coat.

“Grandpa?” I blinked.

“The police commissioner owes me a favor,” Wade grunted. He sat down and tossed a file on the table.

“And it helps when your ‘victims’ turn out to be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list for contract killing.”

I exhaled. “You knew?”

“I knew Linda would try something. I didn’t think she’d be stupid enough to use the Black Hawk remnants.” Wade smiled, a genuine, warm smile.

“You cleared the board, Julie. Linda is being arrested as we speak for conspiracy to commit murder and financing terrorism.”

“And Colin?” I asked.

“He’s outside. He knows everything. I told him about Myanmar. About Silverwing.”

I looked down at the handcuffs.

“He’ll want an annulment. He didn’t sign up for a wife with a body count.”

Wade unlocked my cuffs with a small key.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

---

I walked out of the precinct into the crisp New York morning. The sun was rising over the city, painting the dirty streets in gold.

Colin was leaning against the black SUV. He looked exhausted. His tuxedo was ruined, his hair a mess. He was smoking a cigarette—something I told him not to do.

He saw me and dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his Oxford shoe.

We stood there for a long moment.

“So,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Silverwing.”

“It’s a stupid name,” I said defenselessly.

“Assassinated the heads of the Twin Dragons. Dismantled the cartel.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“And I thought you were just a librarian who got lucky at the range.”

“I wanted to leave that life, Colin. I just wanted my mother’s company back.”

“You lied to me,” he said. He took a step closer.

“I did.”

“You saved my life,” he said. Another step. He was right in front of me now.

“That was the job,” I said, looking at his chest because I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Contract fulfilled. Linda is gone. You’re safe. We can get the divorce papers filed by noon.”

“Shut up,” he said softly.

He reached out and tilted my chin up. His eyes searched mine—looking for the killer, the wife, the girl.

“The contract is void,” Colin said.

“I fired the lawyer.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want a bodyguard, Julie. And I don’t want a fake wife.”

He brushed a stray hair behind my ear, his touch gentle, contrasting with the violence of the night before.

“I want the woman who stood in front of a bullet for me. I want the woman who challenged me to be better.”

He smirked, that arrogant, beautiful smirk returning.

“Besides, who else is going to keep me in line? I’m a handful.”

“You’re an idiot,” I said, tears pricking my eyes.

“I’m your idiot.”

He kissed me. It wasn’t tentative. It was a claim. It tasted like danger and promise and a future that wouldn’t be boring.

When we broke apart, he opened the car door for me.

“Where to, Mrs. Jenkins?”

I looked at the skyline. It didn’t look like a battlefield anymore. It looked like home.

“Let’s go take over the company,” I said.

“And then… maybe you can take me to a real dinner. Somewhere nobody shoots at us.”

Colin laughed, getting into the driver’s seat.

“No promises, babe. This is New York.”

I watched him start the engine. The Ghost was gone. Julie Jenkins was just getting started.