Chapter 1: The Assassin’s Wife Revealed

My frail and sickly husband turned out to be a prince—go figure. Well, more like the youngest son of a powerful old-money family with secrets thicker than the Georgia fog.

Funny thing is, I always thought there was something off about him, the way he moved through town like he belonged and didn't belong at the same time. Bless his heart, I should’ve known. But this? This was a whole new level of Southern Gothic. The kind of secret that sticks to you in the summer heat, making it hard to breathe—like sweat trickling down your back, refusing to let go.

He said, “A girl from some backwoods town, and you think you’re fit to be my wife?” The way he said it? Sharp as a slap. Lord, that pride runs deep. I could almost hear the echo of a hundred years of family pride. I stared him down, chin lifted, refusing to let him see me flinch. In that moment, I realized I was done playing nice.

Well, if that’s how it is... Fine by me. I won’t bother pretending anymore.

I let the mask drop, feeling lighter already. No more tiptoeing around his blue-blood expectations. Time to be me—unapologetically. Stubbornly. Me.

I swapped out my thrift-store skirt for my favorite nightshirt. No more Sunday best for me.

It was old and soft, faded from a hundred washes, with a cartoon possum on the front. I wore it like armor—go ahead, judge me. I padded barefoot across the creaky floorboards, letting the world see I wasn’t about to change for anyone, not even a Sterling.

A few days later, the infamous chameleon assassin—the Shifter—was assigned to protect the prince.

Word spread through the grapevine faster than sweet tea at a church potluck. And I was the answer, standing right in front of them.

I watched silently as he went crazy looking for a small-town girl from the sticks.

He tore through files and photographs, barking orders, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Standing right in front of him, I reported, “Sir, still no news.”

I kept my voice steady, my eyes downcast, playing the part to a T. If he suspected anything, he didn’t show it. Sometimes, the best hiding place is right out in the open.

I am The Shifter, top-ranked assassin of the Nightshade Syndicate.

The name carried weight in the right circles. A shadow. A rumor. A cautionary tale told in smoky backrooms. But here, in this sunlit kitchen with its chipped Formica counters, I was just Lena—wife, neighbor, mystery.

At twenty, I retired and married a frail scholar, bringing him to live with me in Maple Heights.

Maple Heights was the kind of place where everybody knew your business, where the mailman waved and folks left casseroles on your porch when you were sick. I blended in, baked pies, and let my knives gather dust. For a while, it almost felt like a real life. Almost.

We’d only been married for half a year when he brought up heading to New York to find his family.

He stood at the kitchen sink, hands trembling just a little, voice soft but steady. I watched the way the morning light caught in his hair, funny, what you notice when you’re about to lose someone. I wondered what he was running toward—or away from.

Before he left, he arranged everything at home down to the last detail.

He left sticky notes on the fridge, labeled every jar in the pantry, and set the thermostat just right. Typical Michael. It was his way of loving me, fussing over the little things so I’d be comfortable. I rolled my eyes, but secretly, it made me smile.

I grew up in the Syndicate. Didn’t know the first thing about the world. He, on the other hand, was beloved by all our neighbors—everyone envied me for marrying such a good man.

Mrs. Abernathy from next door brought over banana bread and whispered, “You sure caught yourself a keeper, honey.” I just nodded, biting back a laugh. If only she knew the half of it.

“When I’m gone, make sure you lock the doors and windows at night. I already told the cook at Daisy’s Diner to bring you dinner every day. If I hear you’re just living off plain toast again, I’ll be mad.”

He repeated himself. Over and over. I yanked the covers over my head and tried to sleep.

He sighed, pulled me into his arms, and whispered, “I’m feeling much better today, so do as you please.”

His breath tickled my ear, voice low and warm. For a second, I almost forgot all the secrets between us. Almost.

The moment I heard that, sleep vanished.

My heart skipped. I peeked out from under the covers, mischief bubbling up. If he was finally letting his guard down, who was I to waste the moment?

My husband was great in every way, except he was a little shy about this sort of thing. No way I was letting this chance slip.

We went at it until the first light crept through the window.

The sheets tangled. Laughter muffled under pillows. For a while, we forgot about the world outside. It was the kind of night that made you believe in second chances.

He packed up and left.

I watched him button his shirt, his movements careful and precise. I memorized every line, every motion. He kissed my forehead, lingering for just a moment, then turned away. The door closed softly behind him, and the house felt emptier than I cared to admit.

Earlier, he pulled me out from under the covers, murmuring, “Lena, Lena. I’ll come back as soon as I can. Don’t forget about me. If I find out you sneak off to The Blue Note to find another man behind my back, I’ll be heartbroken.”

He tried to sound stern, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. The Blue Note was a local jazz bar, the kind of place with sticky floors and smoky corners. The one time I’d gone, he hadn’t let me forget it. I stuck my tongue out at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer.

So annoying. I only went that one time, and it was just to hear the music.

Honestly, the way he carried on? You’d think I was out there breaking hearts left and right. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

The sunlight was too bright for my eyes. I kicked him and grumbled, “Get lost!”

He laughed, the sound low and genuine. For a moment, everything felt simple.