Deadly Homecoming

Wind whipped against Maeve Vance’s simple black tracksuit. She stood perfectly still before the towering wrought-iron gates of the Vance estate, letting the cold air drag through her dark hair. Her eyes traced the imposing architecture of the sprawling manor. Thirteen years. It had been thirteen long years since she was discarded and left to rot.

Now, two major shockwaves were rippling through the dark underworld and the polished high society of Valerius. The first was a whisper spreading through encrypted networks: Nightshade, the undisputed queen of the global mercenary trade, had accepted a contract to assassinate Kael Thorne, the legendary war god of Altria. The second was local elite gossip: Maeve Vance, the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family, had been discovered in a desolate rural village and was finally returning home.

Nobody knew the two women were the exact same person.

Maeve pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up with a barrage of notifications from the Blood Horizon encrypted channel.

Ironclad: [@Nightshade, today is the big family reunion, right? Boss, how is the civilian life going? Anyone giving you a hard time?]

Talon: [We should count our blessings she did not roll into the driveway with a rocket launcher. Who is actually going to mess with her?]

Siren: [Let us be real here. The boss does not care about playing house with her estranged family. She is only in Altria for one thing. Kael Thorne.]

Siren: [Fun fact for the group. His current bounty is sitting at a cool ten billion dollars. Rumor has it he is an absolute heartthrob, barely in his early twenties. Boss, do us all a favor and at least sleep with him before you slit his throat.]

Maeve locked the screen and shoved the phone back into her pocket. If someone handed Siren a typewriter, she would churn out a trashy romance novel about Maeve and Kael within the hour.

Just the name Kael Thorne sparked a dull ache behind Maeve’s temples. He was the anomaly in her flawless ledger. On the blood-soaked battlefields where generals died for scraps of glory, Maeve reigned supreme. Eighty-nine elite missions. Eighty-nine unquestionable victories. She left ash and submission in her wake.

Then came Kael. He was the only man alive who had fought her to a bloody, breathless draw.

She remembered the message he had delivered through his surviving men right before she departed for Valerius.

"Swear this on the battlefield. If I defeat you next time, you will marry me."

Maeve had spent her life standing over the broken bodies of powerful men. She had never been so profoundly insulted. She would never marry him. She was going to use her civilian cover as the Vance family’s tragic, recovered daughter to slip past his defenses and kill him with her bare hands. The Vance family was just a convenient stepping stone. She would settle her old scores with them along the way.

"Are you Maeve?"

The voice belonged to Arthur Sterling. The Vance family butler stepped out from the side path, looking her up and down with blatant disdain. He took in her faded black tracksuit and worn sneakers. The outfit probably cost less than seventy dollars at a discount rack. She looked exactly like the file described: a rough, uncultured country bumpkin unfit for polite society. It made perfect sense why Lydia Vance had refused to step outside to welcome her own flesh and blood.

"Ms. Vance is in the main living room practicing her piano. She has a major city-wide competition tomorrow and cannot be disturbed under any circumstances. Mrs. Vance gave strict orders for you to be brought in through the back door." Arthur delivered the instructions with a careless wave of his hand.

Thirteen years had passed, yet the Vance family dynamic remained flawlessly intact. Whenever Elise was involved, Maeve was expected to make herself invisible.

Maeve let out a quiet scoff. She and Elise were twins, yet they shared zero physical resemblance. Elise was the younger of the two. Growing up, Maeve had been quiet and fiercely independent. Elise had been a professional victim. Elise knew exactly how to weaponize her tears to manipulate their mother. The crying child always got the most attention. Elise possessed Lydia’s delicate features, which only amplified their mother’s blatant favoritism.

Any childhood disagreement ended the exact same way. Lydia would stroke Elise’s hair and shoot daggers at Maeve.

"You are the older sister. Stop causing all this fuss. Can you not just let Elise have her way for once?"

Maeve had forfeited her toys, her pretty dresses, and eventually, the affection of her older brothers. Yet, Elise remained paranoid. The golden child was terrified Maeve would one day steal back the family’s love. So, at the age of seven, Elise had lured Maeve deep into the dense woods behind the estate and abandoned her.

That betrayal triggered thirteen years of sheer survival. Maeve had fought rabid dogs for stale bread. She had scraped grease from gutter pans. She had outrun violent drifters in alleyways, treated worse than an animal. The fire forged her into Nightshade.

She would make Elise pay for every single day of that hell.

Maeve shifted her gaze to Arthur. The temperature around them seemed to plummet. She stared at him with the cold, hollow intensity she reserved for battlefield casualties.

"I am also Ms. Vance. Being away for thirteen years does not mean I lost the right to use the front door." She stepped forward, forcing him to step back.

Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs. The girl standing before him did not match the pathetic profile in his hands. He swallowed hard, suddenly terrified to block her path.

Maeve pushed past the paralyzed butler and walked straight through the towering oak front doors. As she stepped into the sprawling foyer, the bright, intricate notes of a classical piano piece echoed through the halls.

She walked into the main living room. Elise sat at a magnificent grand piano in the center of the room, draped in an elaborate designer princess dress. Lydia reclined on a pristine white leather sofa nearby, wearing a tailored luxury suit, nursing a porcelain cup of tea.

Arthur scrambled in behind Maeve, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Ms. Maeve Vance, I must ask you to walk quietly. Please do not disturb Ms. Elise Vance's piano practice." He kept his voice to a frantic whisper.

Maeve ignored him entirely. She strode right to the center of the room, her footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor. The piano music hitched and died.

Lydia looked up. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second at Maeve’s striking, sharp beauty, which far outshone her childhood features. Then, her lips thinned into a deep scowl. She slammed her teacup onto the saucer and snapped at the butler.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion? I gave you explicit instructions not to disturb Elise while she practices." Lydia stood up, glaring at Maeve. "Tomorrow is the most important city-wide piano competition of her life. What if you breaking her concentration causes her to make a mistake on stage? Are you prepared to take responsibility for ruining her future?"

It was a brutal welcome. Not a single word about missing her, about her survival, or about her return. Just a thinly veiled complaint that her existence was an inconvenience.

Maeve's eyes darkened into chips of ice. She opened her mouth, but a soft, saccharine voice cut through the tension.

"Mom, please do not be upset. It is perfectly fine. I am extremely confident about my performance in tomorrow's competition." Elise stood up from the piano bench and glided over to Maeve. She fluttered her eyelashes, painting the picture of absolute innocence. "Besides, today is Maeve's homecoming day. We should all be celebrating, should we not?"

The sugary intervention instantly melted Lydia’s icy demeanor. The prospect of Elise bringing home a prestigious trophy stroked the family’s ego. Lydia reached out and gently tapped Elise’s forehead with manicured fingers.

"Confidence is an excellent trait, my darling, but practice makes perfect." Lydia’s voice dripped with adoration. Then she turned back to Maeve, her tone shifting back to sheer disgust. "Do not let yourself look like you just dragged yourself out of a ditch in some poor village. A young lady of the Vance family must carry herself with grace and dignity."

Lydia was deeply ashamed. Having a daughter return from rural poverty was a stain on her flawless high-society reputation. She desperately wished Maeve possessed even an ounce of Elise's refined elegance.

"You should take a page from your sister's book and let Elise teach you how to play the piano. At the very least, when you step out into Valerius society, you can showcase a refined talent instead of being a total laughingstock to our peers." Lydia crossed her arms, issuing the command like a royal decree.

"That is a wonderful idea, Mom. Even though Maeve did not have the privilege of a proper upbringing, I believe she is bright and can learn anything with a little help." Elise flashed a bright, plastic smile.

While her words sounded supportive, she was clenching her hands at her sides so tightly her knuckles shone stark white.

Elise hated Maeve. They were twins, but they shared no physical traits. Maeve had always possessed an ethereal, striking beauty inherited from their father. It had driven Elise insane growing up. Relatives and friends would visit the estate, take one look at them, and whisper.

"Maeve is so stunning. She really got her dad's good looks. I have never seen twins look so unalike. What a terrible pity for Elise."

Now, seeing Maeve standing in their living room, looking even more breathtaking than before despite wearing cheap rags, Elise felt a toxic wave of misery wash over her. She did not want Maeve back in this house. She refused to let her older sister steal the spotlight again. She needed to put Maeve in her place immediately.

Elise relaxed her fists and forced her voice into a soft, accommodating pitch.

"Mom, if you want proof, I will gladly teach Maeve how to play the piano right this second."

Elise did not bother asking if Maeve wanted to learn. She simply marched back to the grand piano, sat on the edge of the velvet bench, and patted the empty space beside her. She adopted the patronizing tone of a kindergarten teacher.

"Come here, Maeve. Look at the board. This specific key right here is do. The next one is re. This one is mi." Elise pressed the keys slowly, letting the notes ring out in the quiet room. "I will teach you a very simple, very basic tune. Have you heard of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'? Watch my fingers. It goes exactly like this."

Piano was Elise’s ultimate domain. She was convinced that a feral country girl who ate scraps to survive had never even been in the same room as a grand piano. The instrument was an alien object to someone of Maeve’s background. Elise wanted to force Maeve into embarrassing herself. She wanted Maeve to stumble, panic, and realize the insurmountable gap in class and talent between them.

Elise launched into a rapid, flourishing rendition of the simple song. Her fingers danced across the keys with practiced agility. It was far too fast for a beginner to track. As the final note faded, Elise looked up, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Maeve.

"Did you get all of that, Maeve? Come sit. Play it for Mom and prove that you are not the pathetic loser everyone claims you are."

The setup was blatantly malicious. Elise deliberately highlighted Maeve’s rural upbringing. By playing the notes at an accelerated tempo, she guaranteed a novice would fail spectacularly. Elise wanted an audience for Maeve's humiliation. She wanted the surrounding maids to whisper. She wanted Lydia’s favoritism to be permanently cemented.

Maeve stared down at the black and white keys. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of her lips.

If she refused to sit down, she would be admitting defeat and validating their label as a useless country bumpkin. If she agreed, standard logic dictated that a first-timer would butcher the fast-paced tutorial Elise had just provided.

Elise waited eagerly for the trap to snap shut. She was about to be severely disappointed.

Over the past decade, the world’s most lethal mercenary had undertaken deep-cover assignments that required absolute perfection. Maeve had infiltrated royal galas, underground symphonies, and elite society balls. She had mastered the piano, the drums, the acoustic guitar, and half a dozen obscure foreign string instruments. A grand piano was not an alien object. It was a familiar weapon.

"Sure. I will try." Maeve kept her voice devoid of emotion.

She closed the distance and sat down on the velvet bench next to her sister.

Elise felt a rush of thrill. Her superiority complex flared bright hot. She watched Maeve intensely, already picturing the country girl sweating and slamming her fingers blindly against the keys. Elise knew the maids standing in the hallway would compare them. They would praise Elise’s genius, and Lydia would finally realize that a feral stray could never match the golden child.

Maeve calmly raised her arms. She rolled her shoulders back to loosen the tension in her muscles. Then, she brought her hands down and rested her long, slender fingers lightly against the smooth ivory keys.