𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✔️

♡ Chapter 1 ♡

April 1st.

"I need Nic Laurant killed."

The words coming over the phone and entering my ears felt like my custom-made perfect symphony. 

I sat up on my bed, the words making me feel too excited to continue laying. I told the client, "You give me the address, and I'll gladly make his stone heart stop beating."

For the first time ever, I never asked for a price. Nic Laurant has been out to get me for years. 

But since he doesn't know my face, he can't kill me. But that hasn't stopped him from stealing my hits from me, left and right. I'll never forget the last time he did. The asshole wrote on the wall in blood, 'I win.'

"I'll send it to you," the unknown man replied. "It needs to get done tonight."

They ended the call, as if in a hurry. I didn't recognize their voice, but it's no surprise that Nic has pissed somebody off enough for them to call me. He snatches people's souls every chance he gets, as if he can't survive without killing. 

I get ready, pulling my black dress over my body while standing in my mirror. I look my reflection up and down, tilting my head, my long black hair falling forward over my shoulder.

Sometimes I've wondered if he even has a beating heart. I'm no believer of the supernatural, but with him, I paused to think about it. The way his face never shows a single emotion, the way he makes people shake in fear, it feels almost demonic.

The address comes through to my phone, and I bite my lipstick-stained lip. 

I make my way out to my car, my gun tucked underneath my dress. 

To finally kill the man I hate the most, is a day that must be celebrated every year.

The city drowns out around me as I focus on nothing but the road for the entire drive. I was so focused, in fact, that I nearly missed the road to turn on.

But I didn't. One house sat on the road, completely secluded. I parked my car a few meters away from the driveway so that there would be no lights or sounds to make him predict anything. 

I stand outside of his house once I reach it. The moonlight shines onto my black hair while my brown eyes watch his silhouette through the window. 

I watch the outline of him pull his shirt off, making his hair go messy. 

My head tilts with every movement he makes.

Killing isn't difficult for me. I've been doing it since I was 18. It started as revenge. I began killing the day after I found my entire family murdered in my house after going out of town for a weekend. There wasn't a drop of evidence left behind, leaving me with no answers.

My heart didn't just break that day. It shattered, into so many pieces that it's impossible to ever get put back together. 

And so, for the past 4 years, I've killed. I've inflicted the same pain upon others, that was inflicted onto me. I didn't want to be this way. I tried therapy, I tried putting how I felt into words. 

But no words I said were able to prevent me from becoming the same thing I had feared before that day. 

The truth is, it's better to feel nothing than everything. 

The lights inside went out, telling me the asshole himself was going to bed. I walked around to the side of his house, eyeing any windows that looked like they could be open. And bingo, one was left cracked open.