"April! Go now!"
"Lock yourself in your room!"
I could still hear my father's voice, the gunshots, and the blood. The smoke of that night, and the pain from that night. It all came flooding back immediately when the administrator gave me that mission. The memory of that night is still stuck with me like a damn curse.
I gasped awake, clutching my chest, sweat soaking my pillow. "...Thirteen years and it still feels like yesterday," I said, then let out a disappointed sigh and swung my legs off the bed and made my way to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and drank slowly as I studied my reflection in the mirror.
"I'll find out who killed my parents that night, even if it's the last thing I do," I muttered, but got so angry that I broke the glass as my grip around the glass tightened.
"Ugh," I let out a sigh of frustration, picking up the glass and disposing of it, then, while bandaging my wound, the bastard appeared, Adrien.
He leaned against the door like he owned the place. "Still up, sweetheart?" he asked with the kind of smirk that always made me want to put a bullet between his eyes.
I didn't look at him directly, just at his reflection through the mirror. "Don't have time for this, Adrien," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Uh, c'mon, just thirty minutes, but if you got at least five hours, we could—" he didn't finish, I didn't let him finish.
"I just need three," I cut him off flatly.
"Oh, so you do quickies, huh?" he asked, his grin widening.
I turned, finally meeting his gaze with a razor-edged smile. "Three seconds to put a bullet through your d*ck."
I could sense the fear in his expression as it shook, then hardened. He won't back off; he was too stupid to do so.
"Don't get too cocky, girl," he said, like he was getting pissed off.
"You done, or you have more where that came from?" I asked, already walking out. He opened his mouth, but I could clearly see that no words were going to come out of it, so I walked past him, shaking him slightly to the corner. "Well then, if you're tired, good night," I said and was already disappearing to my dorm.
"F*ck!!!!!!!" he roared. I could still hear the echo when I closed my door. I pressed my back against the door and slid down, buried my face in my knees, and after some minutes, I glanced at the window, the wind blowing my curtains. It was like the air this night was colder; the others were colder, but I seemed to have noticed this one.
I let out a disappointed sigh and lay on the bed. Sleep would not come easily; it never did.
DAYS LATER...
"Sir, that was the nineteenth one today." Clara's voice was calm but laced with a hint of exhaustion as the last applicant shut the door.
Marcus simply leaned back in his chair and wore an unreadable expression as his fingers drummed slowly against the desk.
"Nineteen girls," he said flatly. "And not one of them could answer a simple question without trembling like a leaf."
He turned his head towards the tall windows as the late afternoon light spilled across his sharp features, which made him look colder. "If a nanny can't look me in the eye, then how on earth is she supposed to protect my son?"
Clara cleared her throat gently, gripping her fingers together. "To be really honest and fair here, sir, your method of interviewing isn't exactly... gentle."
Marcus shifted his gaze from the window to her; his gaze was calm but seemed to cut through her. "If a few questions terrify them, Clara, then they're simply not worthy of standing anywhere near Aaron. I won't let just anyone raise him or even breathe near him."
The tension in the room was heavy, and Clara was used to it; she didn't back down.
Marcus exhaled slowly as he rose, loosening the top of his crisp white shirt. "That's enough for today, Clara. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Actually..." Clara hesitated a little, then inhaled and exhaled and continued, "...there is one more applicant."
He arched a brow. "Another one?"
"Y-Yes, sir. Her file came in last night from the agency." She revealed the folder and placed it on the desk for him to view. This time her tone was soft but firm. "It's an official recommendation. They rarely send candidates without reason."
Marcus didn't move immediately; he stared at the folder like it was a trap. He tightened his jaw, then softened it back. He finally agreed, leaning forward and flipping the file open, but quickly snapped it shut.
"…Nineteen failures. And now, a twentieth." His voice was quiet, skeptical.
Clara gave the faintest smile. "We don't know that yet, sir."
The silence stretched for too long, but it was only broken by the hum of the air conditioner.
Finally, Marcus's hand tapped once against the file. "Fine. Send her in."
Clara nodded once and walked to the door. She placed her hand on the knob, opened it slowly, and gestured to the figure waiting outside.
The heels clicked softly against the marble as the applicant stepped forward, the light from the hall casting her silhouette across the floor.
Marcus's gaze sharpened, unreadable.
The door clicked shut.
And the interview… was about to begin.