Lena's POV
It had been a week since my encounter with Asher, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't erase it from my mind.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his cold, piercing gaze, felt the iron grip of his hand around my throat, heard the threat in his voice.
I was supposed to go undercover next week, but the thought of him recognizing me made my stomach churn. If he remembered me, it would mean one thing—the mission would be compromised. No more gathering evidence. No way to bring Nexus Corp down. They'd tighten security, and we'd be out before we even got in.
Worst of all?
I hadn't told anyone.
Not Claire.
Not Henry.
Not Chris.
No one.
I knew if I did, they would have me removed from the mission. And that wasn't an option.
I don't want to be removed from the mission. At first, I never thought I would even get this opportunity, but now that I have it, there's no way I'm letting it slip through my fingers.
This mission isn't just about gathering evidence—it's about something far more personal.
I need to investigate my father's death.
And there was one more thing keeping me on edge.
The dream.
Two nights ago, I woke up drenched in sweat, my breath ragged, my hands shaking.
In the dream, I was standing over Asher, pointing a gun to his head. He was on his knees, his face twisted in anguish.
Begging me.
"Lena, please. Don't do this. I love you."
Tears streaked down his face—the same face that had terrified me in real life—but in the dream, he wasn't a ruthless, feared businessman.
He was just a broken man, pleading for love.
"I don't love you, Asher," I cried out.
The gun trembled in my hands. I was crying too.
"You can kill me, Lena. Do anything to me, but don't deny the love you have for me," he wailed, his voice raw with pain.
Then, before I could react, his hand suddenly reached for the trigger.
He pulled it.
The gunshot echoed in my ears as I jolted awake, gasping for air. My heart pounded violently against my ribs, my skin slick with sweat.
I sat up, gripping the sheets, trying to shake off the lingering weight of the dream.
Asher. Begging. Crying.
It didn't make sense. The man I met in real life was nothing like the desperate, broken figure in my nightmare. He was cold, cruel, and terrifying. Yet, in the dream… he loved me.
And worse—I had loved him too.
I buried my face in my hands. What the hell was wrong with me?
I was still shaken from remembering the dream when Claire's voice suddenly pulled me from my thoughts.
"Are you okay, Lena?"
I blinked and turned toward her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, watching me closely.
"Yes, sure," I replied quickly, forcing a smile.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Okay, what's with that awkward-ass smile?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Lena, I've been talking to you for the past five minutes, but your mind was somewhere else."
I sighed. Claire knew me too well.
"I said I'm fine," I insisted, turning my attention back to the pile of male clothes on the bed. "Let's just finish packing."
Claire had been helping me sort through clothes for my undercover persona—my fake identity as a struggling young man with a sick mother.
She let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
"You know what, Lena?" she muttered. "You can hide shit from me, but I know you better than anyone. You've been acting off since last week. If you've got a problem, you should just talk to me. Two heads are better than one."
There was frustration in her voice, but I could also tell she was worried.
I hesitated.
I didn't want to burden her. She had her own problems.
Claire had just broken up with her boyfriend four days ago—not that she particularly cared. She had met the guy less than two months ago, pursued him herself, and then ended things just as quickly.
The reason?
She saw someone cuter and didn't want to cheat.
That was Claire. In the nine years I'd known her, I would bet she had dated over a hundred guys—but to her credit, she never cheated. If she found someone new, she simply ended things. And when asked why? She told the truth without sugarcoating it.
Unfortunately for her, the cuter guy she fell for wasn't available. Three days ago, he rejected her—turns out, he already had a girlfriend.
Claire came to me after that, looking surprisingly dejected.
I had wanted to tell her that day that day. But, I didn't wanted to add to her worries. Even if she didn't show it much, I knew she was feeling a bit of pain.
And no matter how carefree she acted, she was still human after all.
I sighed and muttered, "I just didn't want to add to your problems."
Claire snorted.
"Problems? What fucking problems?" she scoffed, flipping her hair. "Last time I had a problem was like… never."
I stared at her, speechless.
To her, getting rejected by a guy you broke up with your boyfriend for, wasn't a problem.
She really couldn't care less.
Her ability to move on from shit instantly was honestly admirable.
Then, her expression changed. She looked at me, her lips pressing together.
"You know what, Lena?" she muttered. "I just feel like you don't trust me anymore."
I groaned, running a hand through my hair.
"No, bitch. I do trust you," I said, exasperated. "Okay, okay—sorry for keeping it from you."
She gave me a pointed look.
"What happened?"
I took a deep breath.
And then, I told her everything.
The fight.
The slap.
Asher's hand around my throat.
The way he looked at me—like he could kill me right there.
And finally…
The dream.
When I finished, Claire was silent for a moment.
Then she let out a low whistle.
"Holy shit." Claire exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Lena, I've told you a thousand times—you need to learn how to control your damn anger!"
And just like that, the mother mode was activated.
I sighed, rubbing my temples as she went on.
"What if what you did cost us this mission?" she scolded, pacing the room like an aggravated parent. "Do you understand what that means? Endangering innocent lives? One wrong move and it could all go to hell."
She flopped onto the bed beside me.
"You're worried he'll recognize you when you go undercover," she stated.
"Exactly," I nodded. "If he does, we're screwed."
Claire sat up, resting her chin on her palm.
"You know what? I wouldn't worry too much. Guys like Asher don't remember faces unless they're important. To him, you were just some random chick who slapped him. And with this anger's of yours, you really need a therapist. Again."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she shot me a pointed glare.
"Don't even start! The last time you let your emotions take over, you almost helped a criminal escape!"
I groaned. Not this again.
"It was a mistake, Claire," I muttered.
"A mistake that almost cost lives!" she snapped.
She wasn't wrong.
Two months ago, we were out grabbing coffee when I saw a man mercilessly beating another guy in an alleyway. My blood boiled instantly.
Before I could think, I rushed in and attacked the so-called bully—only to later find out he was an undercover cop, and the guy I helped escape was a wanted murderer.
Yeah. Not my finest moment.
Claire had dragged me off him, and after a lot of awkward apologies, we helped them track down the fugitive.
But it had shaken me.
I had a traumatic past with bullies, and sometimes, I acted before I could stop myself.
When my dad was transferred to Milan, I had to stay behind in Venice with my mom. She was a doctor, waiting for her own transfer to be approved, so I was left with her until I finished elementary school.
Then came the twist.
The hospital had conditions. She could only get her transfer if she spent months training abroad.
Mom agreed.
I was left with my aunt and her husband for four months.
And those four months were hell.
My aunt was mercilessly beaten every night by her drunkard husband. I would hear her sobs through the walls, see the bruises she tried to cover up, watch her flinch at every loud noise.
One night, he took it too far.
I was right there. Watching. Helpless.
And then she was gone.
Dead.
The bastard was sentenced, but the damage was done.
My dad took me back to Milan, and my mom decided to quit her job, probably afraid to leave me alone again.
Therapy helped. A little.
But the anger? The helplessness?
That never really left.
And maybe that's why I kept fighting battles that weren't mine.
"But this time, it's different," I justified, shaking the memories away.
Claire huffed. "Lena, you can't keep going around slapping people—especially when they're bigger and stronger than you!"
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, okay, lesson learned. Can we move on now?"
"No, we have to fucking talk about this," she insisted.
I groaned. "Claire—"
"Have you told anyone yet?" she interrupted.
I hesitated. "...No. No one. Except you."
Claire exhaled loudly.
"So what's the plan?" she asked.
I straightened my posture. "Stick to the original plan. I'll make sure he doesn't recognize me. It's going to be difficult, but not impossible."
She frowned. "I hope so," she muttered. "But seriously, Lena. You have to keep that temper in check."
I smirked. "Okay, mommy."
But the dream though?" Claire mused, tapping her fingers on her knee. "That's some deep psychological shit right there."
I frowned. "It felt so real. Like… why the hell would I be crying for him?"
Claire shrugged. "Maybe your subconscious is warning you about something."
I scoffed.
"I highly doubt my subconscious wants me to fall in love with the enemy.I hate him girl."
Claire burst out laughing.
"Falling in love with Asher Fernando? Now that's some soap opera bullshit."
I laughed too, shaking my head.
"Not happening," I said firmly.
Claire smirked. "We'll see."
I rolled my eyes and threw a shirt at her face.
"Shut up and help me pack, bitch."
She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. I caught it and threw one back, which led to a full-blown pillow fight.
Laughter filled the room as we swung at each other, feathers flying everywhere, clothes scattering off the bed. By the time we were done, we were both panting, sprawled out on the mattress.
Claire turned her head to look at me, and we burst into laughter again.
I let out a breath. "Thank you." Sharing my problem with her made me felt lighter.
She gagged dramatically. "Ugh, gross."
I snorted. "I take it back."
She chuckled, tossing a pillow off the bed. "You better."
Before I could say anything else, my phone buzzed.
I reached for it, unlocking the screen.
A message from Henry.
Hi ma'am,
I've been calling you, but you're not answering.
It's been an hour, and I'm still waiting.
My eyes widened.
"Oh, fuck!" I shouted, sitting up abruptly.
Claire jerked upright. "What? What happened?"
I checked the time.
"It's past 12!" I groaned, running my hands through my hair.
Claire gasped. "No way—"
"Yes way!" I groaned, jumping off the bed.
"You left Henry waiting for two hours?!" she exclaimed.
I quickly typed a reply:
"Shit. Sorry, Henry! On my way now."
I grabbed my bag and jacket, rushing toward the door.
Claire laughed. "You totally forgot about him, didn't you?"
I groaned. "I was distracted, okay?!"
"You mean you were too busy throwing pillows at me?" she teased.
"Shut up, Claire!" I yelled as I ran out the door.
I was supposed to meet Henry at 10 AM to go house-hunting in Quarto Oggiaro—one of the poorer neighborhoods in Milan.
It was the perfect cover.
If I was going to pretend to be struggling, I needed to look the part.
And finding the right place was a key part of making my fake identity believable.
But now?
Henry was waiting for me.
And I was already two hours late.
"You aren't seriously going like this, right?" Claire shouted from the doorway just as I was about to head downstairs.
I glanced down at myself—shit. I was still dressed like my normal self, a girl. Out there, I needed to be seen as a boy—the identity I was going undercover with.
Cursing under my breath, I spun around and sprinted back upstairs.
"Bitch," I muttered, shooting Claire a glare as I shoved her out of the doorway.