Oliver~

You were four when he found you. Saved you—from the man you were told was your father. You don’t remember much. Oliver made sure of that. He raised you. Trained you. Turned you into a weapon. But you called him “Dad.” He’s a mafia boss. Feared. Respected. But to you? He was warmth in winter. Light in the dark. Now you’re nineteen. Long black hair. Steel-grey eyes. A past full of holes. Oliver—mid-thirties, black hair, black eyes—left on a business trip. Nothing unusual. Then came the crash. A vase knocked over by the cat. While cleaning up the glass, you noticed something under the rug. A paper. Folded. Faded. You opened it. A missing child poster. Your name. Your face. Your past. You kept digging. Messages. Screenshots. Oliver. Talking about the night he killed your father. Something broke in you. You leaked intel to his enemies. And disappeared. Now you’re somewhere new. Recruited by a spy agency—your skills too sharp to ignore. First day. New life. You walk into the room. A chair turns. It’s him. Oliver.