GIRLS LIKE ME DON’T GET TO CHOOSE LOYALTY

ALANA

Some girls are born to be daughters. Some are born to be soldiers. But I was raised to be a tool. Polished. Beautiful. Loyal. Lethal.

And now, the hands that shaped me are turning the blade inward.

It’s been three days since I delivered Zach to my father.

Three days since I watched him disappear behind steel doors and trusted he’d make it through.

Three days of playing Roman’s game.

Pretending I’m still his perfect daughter.

Pretending I didn’t slip a half-dose into that syringe instead of the full one.

Pretending I’m not breaking apart under the weight of it all. And now, everything’s shifting. Faster. Deadlier. Because Roman’s not asking questions anymore.

He’s watching.

And someone, someone close, is feeding him more than he should know.

I find Gia in the library.

She’s perched on the arm of one of the tufted leather chairs, sipping from a porcelain cup and flipping through an old case file.

When I walk in, her eyes lift to meet mine.

“Trouble?” she asks.

Always. I don’t say it out loud.

Instead, I close the door behind me and walk over, sitting across from her.

“I need to ask you something,” I say.

Her brows arch.

“That’s never a good sign.”

“It’s important.”

She closes the file slowly and places it on the table. “Okay. Ask.”

“Has my father spoken to you lately? About me?”

Her smile falters. Just slightly.

“I’m your best friend, Alana. Not his spy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She exhales, shifts in her seat.

“He asked me if I thought you were… distracted.”

I stiffen.

“And what did you say?”

“The truth,” she replies. “That you’ve been off your game lately. Distant. Quiet.”

I stare at her.

“Why would you tell him that?”

“Because it’s true.”

Her voice is calm. But there’s something else in it. A thread of judgment I’ve never heard from her before.

“You know what I’m doing,” I whisper. “You know why I’m not sleeping. Why I’m off.”

She tilts her head.

“Do I?”

Something cracks inside me.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been different since Zach,” she says simply. “Less focused. More emotional. You’re slipping.”

“I’m not slipping.”

She leans forward, voice lower now.

“Then prove it. Because Roman’s losing patience. And if he starts to think you’re not as loyal as you used to be…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence.

She doesn’t have to.

I stand slowly. My hands are cold.

“Thank you for your honesty,” I say, stiff.

She frowns. “Alana, don’t be like that.”

But I’m already walking away. Already filing that conversation in a new part of my brain.

One labeled: Caution.

Because if Gia is watching me now, it means she’s been ordered to. And if she’s been ordered to…

She’s not mine anymore.

Later that evening, I get a text from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: The lion has teeth. Careful where you bleed.

It’s unsigned. Untraceable. But the message is clear.

Roman knows. Or suspects.

I burn the message immediately.

Then I do something I haven’t done in months.

I go to the firing range.

It’s quiet. Empty. Late enough that the rest of the estate has gone to sleep. Only one security camera in the corner and it’s mine. I helped design the blind spots.

I load the gun slowly. One bullet at a time. The way Roman taught me.

Discipline over speed. Control over chaos.

I take my stance. Raise the barrel. Fire.

The first shot shatters the glass on the dummy’s eye. The second rips through the throat.

I unload the rest without blinking. When the clip’s empty, I lower the weapon.

My pulse is steady. My hands are clean. But I don’t feel better.

Because I’m no longer sure who the target is anymore.

I sit on the edge of the table and pull out the burner phone I keep duct-taped beneath it.

I text Zach.

Me: You okay?

The dots appear almost instantly.

Zach: Still breathing. Still pretty. Missed you.

I smile. But only for a second.

Me: Something’s wrong. Gia’s not Gia anymore. Or maybe she never was.

Zach: You think she’s feeding him?

Me: Yes.

Zach: Then use it.

Me: How?

Zach: Tell her something false. See if it reaches Roman.

Smart. Dangerous. Exactly what I’d do.

I hesitate. Then type:

Me: He’s moving me to the city safehouse tomorrow. Alone.

Zach: Will he believe that?

Me: If she tells him, we’ll know.

I set the phone down. Breathe. Wait.

The next morning, Roman doesn’t say a word. Neither does Gia. But by lunchtime, I get a message.

Gia: He wants to see you. Now.

The trap is set.

I just hope I’m not walking straight into it.

Roman’s office is colder today.

He’s standing by the window when I enter.

When he turns, his expression is unreadable.

“You’re going to the city tomorrow,” he says.

It’s not a question. It’s confirmation.

I keep my voice calm.

“Is that a problem?”

He watches me for a long time. Then he shakes his head.

“No. I think it’s a good idea.”

My stomach drops. That was too easy. Too clean.

He knows. He’s playing me.

When I leave the office, I don’t go back to my room.

I head to the archives.

There’s a ledger there. Paper, not digital. Old-school. The kind of thing only family can access.

I find the section marked Blacksite Rotations.

Zach’s name is there. Marked in ink. Underlined twice.

Beside it, a note: Scheduled for transfer – TBD – Pending clearance.

Clearance. Roman’s way of saying: Pending loyalty test.

He’s going to put Zach in a situation that forces him to choose. Me. Or them.

I rush back to my room, grab the burner.

Me: They’re going to test you. Soon. Be ready.

Zach: Always. You okay?

Me: No.

Zach: Where are you?

Me: In the lion’s mouth.

Zach: Then don’t move. I’ll break the damn jaw.

My eyes sting.

I type:

Me: You’re going to have to lie soon. Really well.

Zach: Then feed me what they want to hear.

Me: What they want is for you to burn with me.

Zach: Then we burn together. But not yet.

I bury the phone again. Put on my mask. And walk into the night like the good daughter I’ve always been.

But somewhere beneath the surface. The soldier in me is waking up.

And she’s not going down without a war.