Ten years later…
"What happens to a child whose parents died a horrific death?" Elena asked softly, almost conversational. "A child with no living relatives. No grandparents. No uncles or aunts. No one left at all."
She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the ruby liquid catch the chandelier light.
"The poor child gets thrown into the foster system," she continued, voice smooth as silk. "And eventually, she's adopted by an old man."
Across from her, her date let out an uneasy chuckle. "I… don't understand what you're saying. Is this supposed to be some kind of riddle?"
Elena's lips curled into a slow, sinful smile. "Don't worry. You'll understand soon."
They sat in one of the city's most expensive five-star restaurants. Golden chandeliers dripped warm light over velvet booths, the air scented with truffle butter and money. Elena, with her snow-white hair flowing past her shoulders and eyes sharp enough to cut through stone, looking too dangerously beautiful.
Her date cleared his throat. "Right… anyway." He shifted, trying to steer the conversation somewhere less eerie. "I'm surprised you said yes to this date. You're… well, you're gorgeous. And young. How old are you again?"
"Twenty-four," she replied, lifting her glass.
"And you don't mind that I'm forty?"
"Forty isn't old." Elena's tone dropped to a purr. "I like my men a little seasoned."
Under the table, her leg brushed against his, deliberate and slow. Her eyes locked onto his like a predator easing closer to her prey.
"We're going to have lots of fun tonight," she added.
He smirked, confidence returning. "Yeah… lots of fun."
They continued eating, his gaze lingering on her.
"Your hair," he said suddenly, pointing. "Is it…?"
"Naturally white?" Elena finished for him. "Yes. And you're the hundredth person to ask me that. And that's just today."
"You can't blame people for asking. It's very… unusual."
Elena only smiled, the kind of smile that hid secrets with teeth.
"So," she said smoothly, "what do you do for work?"
His expression tightened, like he disliked the question. "Construction."
"Construction?" Elena tilted her head. "What part?" She listed a few roles.
"Are you a Site manager? Or perhaps a welder? Inspector? Or project overseer?"
"Welder." He quickly replied.
"Wow," she said, widening her eyes just enough to look impressed. "I didn't know they made that much money."
"We make enough," he said defensively.
"Enough to eat at a place as fancy as this?"
"I wanted to treat you," he said. "Is that a problem?"
"No, of course not." Elena leaned forward, her voice softening. "And I truly appreciate it. Thank you."
Her smile was warm.
Her eyes were anything but.
But her date was far too smitten, blinded by her beauty, to notice the danger simmering beneath her calm exterior.
"You have got to be the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on," he breathed, then blinked as if surprised the thought escaped his mouth.
Elena's lips curved slowly. "Thank you." She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a seductive whisper. "How about we get out of here and head to your place, so we can truly begin the night."
He swallowed hard, desire and ego tangling in his throat, and immediately flagged down the waiter. Their plates were still nearly full, untouched, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting Elena alone.
Thirty minutes later, he was unlocking the door to his apartment.
"Make yourself at home," he said proudly as the door swung open, revealing his upscale apartment, marble floors, dim warm lights, a smell of fresh cologne and masculine vanity. He didn't realize he had just invited the devil into his sanctuary.
Elena stepped inside, her heels clicking softly like a countdown.
He shut the door behind them.
"You have a nice place," she said, drifting her fingers across a framed photo on the wall. It showed him and another man drinking beer.
But she wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at the man standing beside him in the picture.
Her date walked toward her, loosening his tie, unaware of the storm tightening around him.
"So," he said, voice low, "should we—"
"Tell me something," Elena interrupted politely. "Do you remember May 14th? Ten years ago?"
He frown. "How would I remember a specific date from ten years ago."
Elena's expression darkened.
"Odd," she whispered. "I remember that day like it was yesterday."
His mouth parted, but no words came out. Color drained from his face.
It was as if something inside him finally clicked—like the wheels in his mind had started turning far too late.
Elena tilted her head. "You're starting to remember it too, aren't you?"
He took a tiny step back. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, but you do." Her smile widened, slow and deadly. "The day you murdered my parents."
He immediately lunged at her, pure survival instinct.
But Elena was faster.
In one fluid motion, she pulled a gun from her bag and fired.
The bullet ripped past his ear with a sickening burst of blood.
"AHH—WHAT THE—!" He clutched his ear, screaming, but he didn't get another second.
Another shot—his left arm snapped back violently.
A third—his right arm jerked, bone cracking beneath the impact.
He collapsed to the floor, writhing, bleeding, his breaths turning wet and ragged.
"Wh—who the hell are you?" he rasped, trying to crawl away from her, legs dragging uselessly beneath him. "What do you want from me?"
Elena took her time walking toward him, her heels tapping against the polished floor like a countdown to death.
She crouched beside him, her expression soft and horrifyingly calm.
"I am the angel of death," she whispered, brushing his blood-soaked cheek with a finger.
"And I'm here for my revenge."
Her smile sharpened.
"But don't worry…" She tilted his chin up with the barrel of the gun. "This is only the beginning."
She leaned in, her voice a cold shiver against his ear.
"You and I have a very long night ahead of us."