"The real treasure was the memories we made along the way."

"I almost died!"

"Ah yes. That was my fondest memory."

For living in Hutzburg, the literal Utopia on earth where you have anything and everything from easy access to your wildest dreams to all the consequences you get for not conquering your soul, having a baby; a very sweet one on that, was the last thing Bella wanted. And that too was with an infamous Assassin who had no more ways to worsen her luck.

It didn't count how she controlled her pen writing about wildlife and keeping a blind eye on all the evil taking place in front of her eyes so she wouldn't get on the bad side of anyone she didn't wish to cross paths with when he invited her to be his partner in a new journey.

She just had no choice there. It was either she fight or... yeah fight was it!

"You hurt?"

"No. I normally spurt blood from my rib cage."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

In the dimly lit recesses of the drafty warehouse, the thunder roared with a vengeance, threatening to shatter the trembling walls and snatch away the corroded metal roof.

Kneeling in a line, their hands bound and faces obscured by black hoods, were a group of men and women.The first two individuals in the line possessed hands of contrasting nature.

One pair appeared masculine, its size commanding and robust, while the other pair exhibited slender fingers, pale and wrinkled like prunes. Upon closer inspection, a barely perceptible tremor coursed through them, betraying their fear.

Following them were a set of smaller hands, their size suggesting youthfulness. Though diminutive, their calloused and weathered palms revealed the toil of hard labor.

The line continued, each subsequent pair of hands contributing to the growing unease. Yet, it was the final pair that stood out in their disturbingly diminutive stature, seemingly out of place among the rest.

Though their captor had tied their hands, the act appeared pointless, merely causing the ropes to cut into their wrists without truly confining them.

Despite the dire circumstances, an eerie silence enveloped the adults, perplexing even the young girl among them. Determined to be free, she struggled relentlessly against her restraints, her cries drowned out by the thunderous tempest outside.

Matheo Sogate, seemingly unperturbed, stood between two loyal henchmen, swaying back and forth from his heels to his toes.

The chilly night air seeped through the cracks in the aged metal doors behind him, permeating his lush green sweater and raising goosebumps on his skin.

Clutching a rifle against his chest, Matheo treated it with delicate care, as if cradling a cherished infant. His right fingertips caressed the intricately carved stock, admiring its artistry.

With his left forefinger, he pointed at each figure lined up against the wall, beginning from the distant corner where the muffled cries emanated, and ceased as his finger reached the end of the line.

Then, the muzzle of his weapon replaced his finger, its presence ominous and foreboding. He toyed with the trigger, contemplating. "I simply... need to make a statement to that man."

A thunderous crash pierced the air.

And blood splattered, painting the scene in macabre hues.

The first victim slumped lifelessly, prompting a fresh surge of wailing and pleading that echoed through the room.

The second one met the same fate, abruptly silencing the room. "Consider that a reward for being a dutiful wife," he sneered.

As the barrel of his rifle sought its next target, the metal doors behind Matheo cracked, bursting open.

A flash of eerie white light bathed the ink-black sky visible through the doorway, casting a silvery glow around a tall figure standing there.

Matheo spun on his heels to face the entrance, his henchmen mirroring his actions. Catching sight of the mere silhouette, a smile, unsettlingly serene and oddly warm, crept onto Matheo's face.

"I hope you won't mind if I help myself to your semi-automatic rifle... right?" he sang out to the newcomer, raising the weapon briefly in the air before cradling it in his arms.

"That's not how we agreed, is it?" a voice, rough as stone, retorted from the end of the doorway.

"Oh, come now. We'll achieve our goals either way," Matheo shrugged, his smile widening and exuding an even greater warmth.

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Picture this: you're all set to hop into bed, ready to drift off into dreamland, when suddenly it hits you like a ton of bricks—you completely forgot to do your routine check of the house. The panic sets in as if you've just remembered that you left the stove on or forgot to wear pants to work. It's that kind of gut-wrenching feeling.

A sudden realization strikes me like a lightning bolt—oh no, I forgot to do my daily patrol around the house! How could I forget such a crucial task? Among all the bedtime rituals, I manage to neglect the one that ensures my safety and sanity. Just my luck!

Now, you might be wondering, why on earth is a nightly patrol so important. Why it's such a big deal?

Well, let me share a little story that might shed some light on the matter. You see, there is this one time when I carelessly leave my bedroom window open, and as luck would have it, that's when a baby enters my life.

No, seriously, a baby. Out of nowhere. Through the open window. That night, while I  was peacefully dreaming away, a baby magically appeared in my room. She didn't arrive in a stroller or a basket—nope, she flew in through the window, accompanied by a guy who could swing on vines like Tarzan. Talk about unconventional entrances!

Now, here I am, getting ready for bed, and this little bundle of chaos and surprise, all wrapped up in tiny human form is snuggled up on my bed, sleeping soundly. So there I am, staring at her, peacefully snoozing away in my bed.

She has got that cute baby fat going on, with cheeks you just want to squeeze and lips that are perpetually in pout mode. And let me tell you, whenever she smiles, my heart does a little happy dance.

It's like a sneak peek into pure, unfiltered joy; something very rare on this side of the realm. It's moments like these that make being her mom worthwhile.

But let's not be fooled by the cuteness overload. Motherhood, or should I say surprise motherhood, comes with its fair share of challenges. Like feeding her cereal in the morning—let's just say it's not the easiest task I've ever undertaken.

I have to tiptoe around like a ninja, trying not to wake her up. Trust me, stepping on LEGO bricks is less painful than waking this sleeping baby.

So, as I slowly peel myself away from the warm cocoon of my comforter, as my feet hit the freezing floor, I let out a colorful string of curses.

A shiver runs down my spine, making me regret not investing in a plush rug. Mental note: check online for the comfiest, fluffiest rug money can buy. I remind myself to tread lightly. No stomping around like an elephant on parade, because, you know, sleeping baby onboard.

I glide through our tiny bedroom, making sure each step is as silent as a ninja's whisper. I have to keep those creaky floorboards at bay, or else it's game over for baby's beauty sleep. So will be mine though it has a long way to come, as long as twice the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen window.

Three months have passed since this little munchkin entered my life, and I still have no clue who she is or why she is here. And don't even get me started on the mysterious Tarzan guy who brings her in. He claims he isn't her father, but hey, I end up being her mom anyway. Talk about a twist of fate!

The first time I ask for her name during Tarzan's visit—scratch that, his invasion—he brushes it off like it's no big deal. "Call her whatever you want, I don't care." And that's how my mother's name gets passed down to the next generation. "Lilly" as it is, for she is the only pure thing I get to see in a while. Who knows baby-naming can be so casual?

He promises he won't come around again, but guess what? He manages to keep his word for a whole week. Then, like a superhero swinging through the window, complete with a cloak and a bow and arrow, he returns. I mean, seriously, who uses a bow and arrow these days? It's like he's stuck in a time warp or something.

But let's get back to the present. Here I am, tiptoeing through the darkness, my senses on high alert. I make sure all the windows and doors are locked, playing my part in this weird, impromptu comedy sketch of a life I've stumbled into.

As I reach the kitchen, I breathe a sigh of relief. The window lock is secure, and I can almost taste the victory of a completed patrol. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a shadowy figure. My heart leaps into my throat, and without thinking, I yelp and leap onto the stove.

The figure freezes, startled by my sudden reaction. His hands shoot up in a calming gesture as he urgently whispers, "Shh! Shut up, you crazy woman. The baby might wake up."

Oh great, just what I need—a late-night intruder who's more concerned about the baby's sleep than my heart palpitations. As I take a closer look, my fear subsides a bit, replaced by a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to regain my composure. "And why do you always manage to give me mini heart attacks whenever you show up?"

He lets out a sigh, clearly frustrated by my lack of composure. "I'm naturally terrifying," he deadpans as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I roll my eyes. "Right, an assassin with a flair for dramatic entrances. Just what every girl dreams of."

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The clock strikes twelve, its chime echoing through the silent night, adding to the absurdity of the situation. We find ourselves sitting at the wooden dining table in my kitchen, bathed in the pale moonlight that sneaks through the curtains.

He sits across from me, the three-year-old clinging to his side, still tugging at his veil. She's a little pouty, clearly not a fan of his mysterious attire. I can't blame her—I've been dying to know what's hiding under that veil myself.

I take a sip of strawberry milk from a cartoon container adorned with a pink cow sporting a mischievous grin, the only thing this assassin ever brings as a supplement for the baby. I figure out her love for strawberry milk, and now it becomes his peace offering. As the frosty liquid trickles down my throat, I can't help but let out a sneeze. "Ah-choo! Looks like my lactose-intolerant sinuses are not fans of happy cows."

He eyes me up and down, clearly unimpressed. "You know, you need to be more careful with your health."

I scoff, trying to play it cool. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to pack up my stuff and leave because some thugs are after us? Can't we just throw a surprise party for them instead? I hear they love pinatas and confetti."

He shoots me a look that could freeze lava. Then his expression softens slightly as he glances back down at the sleeping baby in his arms. "They've discovered that she's alive, or rather, that I failed to eliminate her. So, we need to go somewhere safe for her sake," he sighs, a hint of exasperation lacing his voice.

"Ah, the classic 'hide and seek with dangerous criminals' game. I always prefer the 'hopscotch in the park' version, but yeah we could use some change."

He stands up, cradling the now-sleeping baby in his arms. I can't help but notice a hint of tenderness in their actions.

"I'll put her to bed. Just don't forget to put the strawberry milk back in the freezer. I've heard she prefers it chilled."

"So, I become her babysitter now? Shall I add that too to my résumé?" I quip, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks, a rare glimpse of amusement crossing his face. "Consider it an upgrade from your boring writing job to an exciting undercover superhero. You're welcome."

"I still see no meaning in why it should be 'we' and not 'you and her' in that sentence 'we need to go somewhere safe,' but yeah, I guess I have no say in it?"

He fondly nods and I watch as he disappears through the kitchen door, leaving me to the mess he left. One thing's for sure—I'll need as much courage as I can muster to navigate this absurd journey of surprise motherhood and assassins.

Continuing in next chapter...