Otilla struck again.
Not with rumors.
Not with paperwork.
Not with quiet erasures.
This time—
she chose blood.
---
She sat across from the Captain in a room that smelled of polished wood and authority. Her posture was relaxed, elegant even, but her eyes were sharp with purpose.
"There's a mission," the Captain said, lowering his voice. "Bandits. Northern sector. High risk."
Otilla smiled faintly. "High risk missions produce unfortunate outcomes."
The Captain hesitated. "You're asking for—"
"I'm asking for silence," she corrected smoothly. "An accident. One soldier fails to return. No body. No questions."
He swallowed. "Xavier Hernandez is one of our best."
"That," Otilla replied calmly, "is precisely why he must not come back."
She leaned forward, her voice a whisper that felt heavier than a shout.
"He has lived past his usefulness."
---
The plan was simple.
Too simple.
Xavier would be reassigned at the last minute.
Separated from his unit.
Sent into a blind zone under the pretense of pursuit.
No extraction.
No witness.
No remains.
The Captain signed off the orders with a hand that shook.
Otilla watched the pen move.
Done, she thought.
---
But the devil, as she had forgotten, lived in details.
And Otilla had grown careless.
A document left unsecured.
A file mislabeled.
A digital trail not fully wiped.
Information leaked.
First to logistics.
Then to intelligence.
Then to someone who asked one question too many.
Why was a soldier with Xavier's clearance being rerouted without protocol?
Why did the Captain's signature appear twice where it shouldn't?
Why was Otilla D'Este's private access code embedded in a military channel?
By dawn, alarms were silent—but eyes were wide open.
---
Xavier never received the mission order.
Instead, he was called into a secured room.
Three officers waited.
No smiles.
No pleasantries.
"Sit," one said.
Xavier obeyed, heart pounding—not from fear, but instinct.
"You were nearly reassigned last night," another officer said. "Do you know why?"
"No, sir."
A screen lit up.
Documents.
Timelines.
Names.
The Captain's.
And then—
Otilla's.
Xavier's jaw clenched.
---
The arrest happened quietly.
No public spectacle.
No warnings.
The Captain broke faster than expected.
Sweat beaded his brow. His voice cracked.
"She planned it," he said. "She orchestrated everything. She wanted him gone. No body. No record."
"Why?" an interrogator asked.
The Captain laughed bitterly. "Because she hates losing."
---
When Otilla was summoned, she arrived composed.
Perfect hair.
Perfect posture.
But she underestimated how thoroughly her paper trail had betrayed her.
"This is a misunderstanding," she said coolly.
"Then explain this," an officer replied, sliding the file across the table.
Her fingers paused.
Just for a second.
It was enough.
---
By nightfall, Xavier stood alone outside the barracks, staring at the sky.
He hadn't almost died.
But he had almost been erased.
Isabella found him there.
One look at his face—and she knew.
She didn't ask questions.
She simply stepped forward and held him.
And this time—
he held her back immediately.
Tightly.
As if reminding the world—
I'm still here.
Far away, Otilla sat in silence, her plans exposed, her power cracked—but not broken.
Not yet.
Because Otilla D'Este did not accept defeat.
She learned from it.
And next time—
she would not leave evidence behind.