Chapter 2

Katherine's POV

Pain. Blinding. Hot. Persistent.

It was the first thing I felt as my eyes blinked open — not the cut on my arm, but the searing light aimed straight at my face, pinning me like prey. The room was silent, except for the faint buzzing of a faulty bulb somewhere behind the blinding beam. My vision blurred, but slowly cleared.

Chains.

My hands were bound in cold metal, bolted tight to the back of the wooden chair. My legs, tied cruelly with thick ropes, ached from being bent too long. My body… almost bare — stripped down to black lace panties and bra. My weapons gone. My pride ??..still intact.

Were they scared of me ?

I tilted my head back, ignoring the sharp sting of the bullet graze on my upper arm. I couldn't see the room clearly, but I could feel it — concrete walls, damp floors and faulty bulb .

They called me Ghost Knife. But no ghost stays chained.

My breathing steadied, cold and calculated. I shifted in my seat slightly, testing the flexibility in my spine, the angle of my arms. Then a memory clicked — a move I’d only practiced once, in a prison training back in Ukraine. A survivalist trick. Painful. Risky. But doable.

With a deep breath, I bit down hard on my thumb joint. A sickening pop echoed as I dislocated it. Pain exploded up my arm, but I held back a scream. Sweat slid down my temple.

“Fucking fuck,” I spat out through gritted teeth, the pain shooting up my arm like fire.

Wiggling my injured hand, I slipped it free of the cuff.

One down. One to go.

I brought my hands forward now — my fingers bloody, shaking.

Then I leaned down, bringing my mouth to my chest and bit into the front clasp of my bra, tugging the small hidden metal pin free.

Tiny. Sharp. My only key.

With trembling fingers, I picked at the second cuff lock behind my back. A few tense clicks... snap. It opened.

Next, my legs.

The ropes were tight — but my pin had teeth.

I sawed at them, tearing through the knot. My thighs burned, but the rope gave way just as—

Voices???...

From the shadows outside the room, I heard harsh Russian.

“The boss will kill us if he finds out---”

“Idiots!! Why will they sell weapons from us in the first place?? ”

"Я хотел бы поцеловать свою жену на прощание перед смертью." ( I'd wish to kiss my wife goodbye before I die. )

My mind sharpened. Fast. Clean. Quiet.

I ripped the ropes from my legs, stood just as the door slammed open and a gunshot rang out. The bullet missed me by a whisper, slicing through the air. I ducked, rolling toward the shadows.

The flashlight landed on the empty chair. Chains and ropes. No woman.

The guards hesitated. Wrong move.

I leapt from the darkness, driving the bra pin straight into one man’s eye — he screamed, staggering. I grabbed his falling body, pulled his gun, and fired two quick shots. One to the gut. One to the skull.

The second man reached for his walkie—

Boom!!

Shot to the head.

Bodies fell. Blood soaked the concrete.

I didn’t wait. I can't.

I ran barefoot into the hallway, the cold biting at my toes, my cut arm dripping blood. My breathing was erratic, adrenaline boiling in my veins.

Room after room passed.

Voices. Footsteps. I ducked into a side office, slamming the door shut.

Silence. At first.

I looked around — desk, files, leather chair... and then my eyes caught the only thing on the wall:

Three lions. Painted gold. A mark beneath each — ancient, powerful. The De Luca symbol.

So this is Klaus office .

Suddenly, the door creaked.

I didn’t think — I shot. Once. Twice.

The first bullet missed.

The second missed .

The third sliced through the person's arm.

I turned.

Klaus de Luca or so I thought.

Smirking like the devil, even as blood dripped from the side of his jacket.

"You’re terrible at aiming,” he said, stepping closer.

“Well, excuse me for being better with knives. Not my fault you stripped every damn blade off my body.”

I aimed again — click. Empty. Nothing.

“Shit.”

He smiled coldly. “My turn.”

He raised his gun, shot upward — the glass chandelier shattered, crashing down.

I screamed, covering my head, shards slicing my skin as I collapsed to the ground.

He walked over slowly, crouched, and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me up. My legs dragged, blood smeared across the tile.

“You killed two of my men,” he whispered in my ear. “Why the hell do you think you’ll walk out of here alive?”

He dragged me across the marble floors like a corpse that had already been sentenced. the cold wind kissed my blood-soaked skin. I wasn’t dead—not yet. But by the way his fingers sank into my hair, I could feel death breathing on my neck.

No bra. Just panties, Bare feet. Arms sliced open. Legs covered in bruises. I had never been this vulnerable in my life.

“Let go of me, asshole!” I hissed through gritted teeth, clawing at his arm.

He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t.

The red wig finally slipped free, falling into his hand as he yanked me forward again.

He froze. “Fake,” he muttered. “What more can you be, Ghost Knife?” His voice cracked like thunder in the sky. “Even your hair is a goddamn lie.”

He tossed the wig aside and grabbed a fistful of my real hair. The scream I let out was sharp and instinctive—more anger than fear, but fuck, it hurt. He didn’t care. He dragged me like a ragdoll, pulling me out into the night.

The outside air hit me like a slap. We passed the fountain, the sharp scent of chlorine making my throat tighten.

Not the water.

Anywhere but the water.

“No—no,no! please,” I said quickly, breath catching in my chest. “Don’t put me in the water.”

I wasn’t begging. But Katherine—the girl I buried a long time ago—she feared it. She feared this. The drowning. The helplessness. The silence under the surface.

He stopped. Turned his head just enough to look at me from the side.

And he smiled.

“I finally found the one thing the great Ghost Knife fears,” he whispered, like it was a secret gift. “Tell me who sent you.”

I stayed silent. Jaw locked. Arms trembling.

“One last chance,” he growled.

Still nothing.

The next second, my face plunged into the freezing water. The shock hit me like a bullet. I kicked, twisted, tried to scream, but bubbles were the only answer.

My lungs begged. My mind screamed.

Then he yanked me up. My coughs came out in wet sobs.

“Who. Sent. You?”

I shook my head, eyes red and wide. “I—I can’t say it… if I do, I die.”

Confusion flashed in his eyes, but rage burned brighter.

He slammed me back down again. Water flooded my nose, my mouth, my mind. The world blurred. Drowned. Tilted.

Memories !!

When I surfaced, it wasn’t because of him. My body had already gone limp. I was slipping fast.

But the strangest thing happened.

As my face turned to him, the contact lens from my left eye fell. The green-brown shimmer vanished. My real eye, its haunting icy blue hue, locked onto his.

And his entire world seemed to freeze.

His lips parted. His chest stopped moving for a breath too long.

He stared at me “…Amiee?” he whispered.

I blinked through the blur, confused. “What?”

His hand loosened in my hair. His expression changed—not softer, just... haunted.

He leaned closer, like trying to memorize my face. “It can’t be.”

Before I could ask who the fuck Amiee was—

“Elijah!!!”

The voice shattered everything.

His eyes stayed locked on mine for a heartbeat longer. Confusion, pain, something else I couldn't name flickered in his gaze before he tore his eyes away and stood. I collapsed onto the grass, coughing up water, still barely breathing.

“ Elijah?” I whispered, looking past him.

No. Not again. The same face. The same eyes. But something in the posture, the power, the silence.

It was him.

This is Elijah!

And I realized...

They weren’t just twins.

They were opposites.

And I was trapped between both.