Luelle
Luelle pressed her palm to the scar on her shoulder, the faint reminder of a bullet wound that had altered the course of her life thirteen years ago. The memory of that night burned vividly—the chaos, the screams, the moment she collided with Ethan, shielding him from the sniper's bullet. She had done her job, fulfilled her mission, saved him. But in doing so, everything she had known had been stripped away.
The Dominion hadn't hesitated. They had always kept a watchful eye on her and Ethan, ensuring their paths aligned with the organization's meticulously crafted plans. The kiss—so unplanned, so raw—had shattered that alignment. The guards had seen it. The moment changed everything. Ethan's future had been mapped out and she wasn't part of it.
When she woke days later in a sterile medical facility, the Dominion's response had been swift and final. "Your mission is complete. He is safe, and your presence is no longer required." Her life as she had known it was over.
The world believed she was dead. The Dominion wove the story effortlessly—no funeral, no memorial. Her mother had insisted it was against their religion, choosing to cremate her and scatter her ashes in the countryside where she had grown up. In truth, Luelle had spent months recovering, her scars a constant reminder of the life she could never return to.
Once healed, her training resumed. She had always been skilled, but now, with her identity erased, the Dominion honed her into something else entirely—a weapon, an assassin feared by the darkest corners of their enemies. Her missions were ruthless, her efficiency unmatched. But she had her own rules. She refused to act blindly. Each target was carefully chosen, each execution deliberate. And though she followed the Dominion's orders, every move she made tied back to one purpose: keeping Ethan safe.
She had never truly left him, despite the Dominion's efforts to remove her from his life. During his university years, she had blended into the background—a coffee in hand, a student seated a few rows behind him in lectures, always close but never seen. She listened as he debated professors, admired his sharp mind, his quiet determination.
Later, as he entered the Dominion's public-facing operations, traveling for business, she followed. She checked into hotels hours before him, sitting in lobbies with a magazine as he arrived, watching the way he carried himself with the confidence of a man unaware of the shadows protecting him.
There were moments—brief, fleeting—where she allowed herself to come close. She still remembered the café near his campus, years ago during his internship. She had been disguised as always, cap pulled low, but they had collided, her arm catching against his as she stumbled.
"Sorry—" she'd muttered, her voice muffled by the brim of her cap.
He'd steadied her instinctively, his grip firm but gentle. "Are you okay?"
Her heart had raced as she nodded quickly, tilting her face away. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you."
For a moment, she had allowed herself to meet his gaze, hoping he wouldn't recognize her—and of course, he hadn't. His memories of her were gone, erased by trauma and time.
"Take care," he had said, stepping aside.
"You too," she had murmured before hurrying away, the warmth of his touch lingering longer than she wanted to admit.
Since that day, she had kept her distance more carefully. But after every mission, after every calculated strike, she still found her way back to him. She slipped into his apartment when she knew he was alone, watching him sleep from the shadows. When his nightmares came, she knelt beside him, brushing her hand against his as he tossed and turned, knowing the dreams were about her—even if he didn't understand why.
And now, tonight, she was watching him again.
Ethan sat alone in a high-end bar, his posture slightly slouched over his drink. It wasn't like him. He never drank excessively, never lost control in public. Yet here he was, swirling the amber liquid absentmindedly, his eyes clouded with something she could only describe as exhaustion.
Luelle adjusted the dark strands of her wig, ensuring none of her natural golden hair showed. She scanned the room, spotting the Dominion guards posted discreetly near the bar—two men, dressed sharply, earpieces barely visible. Their presence wasn't surprising. They were always watching him, ensuring he remained untouchable.
They didn't know her. No one did.
She stood and approached, moving with the ease of a woman simply drawn to an intriguing stranger. To the guards, she was just another patron seeking company. To Ethan, she would be nothing more than a passing face in his alcohol-induced haze.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, keeping her tone light and approachable.
Ethan blinked up at her, his reaction delayed. He studied her, his mind sluggish, before gesturing toward the seat across from him. "Sure," he muttered.
She slid into the booth, her heart hammering despite herself. This close, she could see the weariness in his eyes, the exhaustion buried under years of controlled discipline.
"You look like you could use a friend," she offered, signalling the bartender for water.
He let out a low, humourless chuckle. "A friend, huh?" His voice was laced with something bitter. "Don't think I've got many of those left."
The words hit her like a blade, but she kept her expression soft. "Maybe just for tonight?"
He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing the sentiment, before nodding slightly.
Minutes passed as she let him talk—more than she had heard from him in years. Alcohol loosened his walls, unravelling the polished Dominion-trained restraint. He spoke of responsibilities, of suffocating expectations, of faceless figures dictating his life's path.
"They think they know me," he muttered, swirling his drink. "But they don't. No one does."
Luelle's throat tightened. "Maybe someone does. You just don't know it."
Ethan lifted his gaze, brows furrowing, as though her words carried something familiar he couldn't quite grasp.
And then, unexpectedly, he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Ghost Girl," he murmured, his lips curling into something resembling a smile.
Her breath caught.
"What?"
"That's who you remind me of." His voice was slurred, but oddly sincere. "A ghost. You show up out of nowhere… but you're not really here, are you?"
She froze. He didn't know. He couldn't possibly know. And yet, some part of him did.
Luelle reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. "I'm here," she said softly. "Let's get you home."
He didn't resist when she helped him to his feet, his steps unsteady but trusting. The Dominion guards watched, but they didn't intervene. To them, she was just a stranger.
The car was waiting outside. As they reached his apartment, she eased him onto the couch, kneeling to untie his shoes. His hand caught her wrist weakly.
"Ghost Girl," he murmured, barely audible. "You're always here..."
Luelle swallowed hard.
"I'll always be here," she whispered.
As his breathing steadied, she rose but he grabs her hand "Stay" he whispers.
Luelle stayed.
Ethan's grip loosened in sleep, but she didn't pull away. She remained beside him, her fingers still lightly entwined with his. His breathing was steady now, slow and even, his body relaxed in a way she hadn't seen in years.
He had asked her to stay—whispered it like a secret, like a plea. And she had listened. Just this once.
She told herself it was only until morning.
For hours, she sat there, watching the city lights fade into dawn through the windows, feeling the warmth of his presence beside her. She memorized the way the early light softened his features, how peaceful he seemed when his mind wasn't burdened by expectation or ghosts of a past he couldn't remember.
And then, just as the first rays of sunlight crept into the room, Ethan stirred.
Luelle's pulse quickened as his fingers twitched slightly against hers, his breaths becoming uneven. She knew what would come next—the slow, hazy return to wakefulness, the moment where reality started settling in again.
She rose silently, slipping away from his grasp.
He murmured something, shifting slightly, but she had already moved toward the door, careful, deliberate.
And just as she was about to step into the shadows, just as she reached the threshold—he saw her.
Bleary-eyed, unfocused, but his gaze found her form, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion.
His voice was rough, weighted with sleep. "Ghost Girl?"
Luelle hesitated, just for a second, long enough for him to register her presence but not long enough for him to piece together why.
Then she was gone.