Chapter 1
Yena’s POV
I stood wrapped in chiffon and quiet joy,
Beside my mother and father,
Watching couples twirl like stories written in silk.
It was Mia’s wedding day—my sister,
My best friend in all of life’s storms.
She looked radiant, wrapped in love,
Marrying the man she had once seen across a boardroom table.
She asked Father to speak with him,
And soon, the proposal bloomed like spring.
He was a successful businessman—Mr. Kim—
Sharp, composed, and kind-eyed.
I was happy for her. Truly.
When I saw him from afar,
I noticed he was handsome—yes—but nothing compared to Mia.
Her glow outshone every diamond in the room.
Laughter rose as we tossed petals into the air,
A moment stitched with happiness and hope.
POV End
---
Author’s Note
The ceremony closed with applause,
A sea of smiles, and warm congratulations.
When Mia threw her bouquet,
The crowd leapt—hands like birds in flight—
But it landed, soft and sure, at Yena’s feet.
Laughter echoed. Fate had a sense of humor.
As Mia prepared to leave with her husband,
Her eyes searched for Yena.
---
Yena’s POV
“Yena, don’t forget to visit me once you get leave,” Mia said,
I nodded, smiling, hiding the ache behind my ribs.
“Of course. I’ll come to your new home soon.
And if you miss me, call—or just come back.
This house is always yours.”
We shared a hug—tight, trembling.
Memories of our childhood rushed in,
How we were always each other’s shelter.
She pulled back, eyes gleaming.
“Did you meet your brother-in-law yet?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Not yet. He was lost in meetings,
And with the crowd and chaos…
But I will. He seemed kind.
He smiled when people praised him.
Good taste, Mia.”
She laughed softly, and I did too—
Though inside, the air was thick with sorrow.
Who would I share my quiet thoughts with now?
Tears slipped down, and she patted my back gently.
---
Part 2: The Morning After
Mia was gone.
The house echoed without her laughter.
At the table, I sat silently.
Mother wept softly, Father whispering comfort.
I was still, my heart folded into silence.
“Yena, sweetheart,” Mother said,
“Go rest. You have work tomorrow.”
I nodded, excused myself, and went to my room.Morning After the Vows
The sun dragged its weight across the sky like regret,
And I—
I pulled myself out of the grave I called a bed.
My eyes were swollen, crusted with the salt of a night I didn’t sleep through.
Tears had made a home under them, drawing maps of all I couldn’t say.
But emotions don’t clock in.
Not in my world.
Today I was steel.
No more weeping. No more warmth.
Just water on skin,
A cold shower washing away the last trace of Yena-the-sister.
I wore a plain outfit—unremarkable, forgettable.
Because that’s the point.
There is no uniform for shadows.
And spies?
We don’t leave a trail—not even in cotton or silk.
To the world, I was just another cog in the government’s machine.
A specialist in cyber security.
“Data girl.” “Tech department.”
That’s what they call me.
It’s a neat little lie—
A good one.
Because cyber agents don’t pull triggers.
Cyber agents don’t infiltrate mafia dens.
Cyber agents don’t bleed on marble floors under chandelier lights.
But I do.
My real identity?
Only three souls know.
Father. Mother. Mia.
That’s it.
Because if word ever slipped—
The ones I hunt would vanish.
The ones I protect would burn.
Mr. Min’s daughter, a spy?
That name alone would set half the city on fire.
My father’s influence is thick with power—politicians, CEOs, crime families even owe him respect.
And if they found out his daughter is the one hunting shadows,
Every rat would scatter.
Every snake would strike.
So I hide.
Not because I’m afraid.
But because I need them to be.
I didn’t choose the title for vanity.
I chose it for power.
Because spies don’t just collect evidence—we end bloodlines when we have to.
Cyber security limits you to firewalls.
But I?
I walk into the fire.
---
At the Office
Cold walls. Flickering lights.
A familiar scent of metal, ink, and quiet tension.
“Agent Y,” someone nodded.
My real name, locked behind lips that only speak when doors seal.
I nodded back, silent.
Here, I was not Yena Min. Not daughter, not sister.
Just Agent Y—
The girl with dead eyes and sharp instincts.
And somewhere in this city,
The name of the mafia I was hunting was waiting to be peeled from a corpse’s mouth.
I opened my tablet.
A new target.
Jimin sat across lit by paranoia and paper maps. His fingers moved fast, flipping through printouts, scribbled notes, coded signals, and surveillance logs. The air reeked of caffeine and conspiracy.
“This guy,” he said, pointing at a worn-out sketch of a silhouette—no name, just a shadow carved by destruction,
“We don’t know his face, we don’t know his name—but Yena, he’s the devil dressed in strategy.”
I didn’t speak. Just stared.
“He ruined three companies in six months,” Jimin continued.
“Turned moguls into beggars. Leaders into leashes.
Whoever he is, he’s got a team—
Not goons, not puppets—left hands. Each one ruthless. Each one elite.
Catching them?
It’s like trying to drown a ghost.”
He slid a document toward me.
A location.
A cluster of pins.
Red. Dangerous. Alive.
I looked.
And my breath caught like a gun misfired.
That area... that’s where Mia lives now.
With him.
Mr. Kim.
The air around me thickened.
“You okay?” Jimin asked.
I nodded, but it was a lie dressed in silence.
If this mafia root spread near Mia,
Then she wasn’t just married into wealth—
She was living next to war.
This mission?
It just got personal.
---
Later – Streets Beneath the Sky
We walked side by side through a crowded market street, city noise brushing our shoulders. Jimin took a deep breath, the kind that usually leads to something stupid.
“Yena,” he said, grinning,
“Your sister’s got someone now. When are you getting married?”
I gave him a dry look.
“Marriage isn’t on my target list.”
He laughed.
“C’mon, what kind of guys do you like? Let me guess—you’re into red flags like every other girl?”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my past life.
“No. I’m drawn to kindness.”
My voice was sharp, real.
“In a world rotting with cruelty, I crave softness.
A man who feels. Who cries without shame.
Not the type who hides behind ego or fists.
I want a man whose soul doesn’t wear armor.”
Jimin blinked. He wasn’t expecting poetry. He should’ve known better.
“And if, by chance,” he said with a grin,
“You do fall in love…
That’s gonna be a beautiful mess.”
I stared straight ahead, pulse twitching at the edge of denial.
“Shut your damn mouth,” I snapped.
He laughed.
To be continue. ...
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