In the early hours of the morning, under the falling rain, a large crowd had gathered to witness, for the first time, the public execution of a man.
They shouted at him, eager to see him punished for his heinous crime, hurling whatever objects they had in their hands and muttering curses under their breath.
Then, in a single moment, silence fell over everyone as the officer covered his head. The execution was carried out, and his soul departed to its Creator — all of this unfolding before the eyes of his young daughter, no more than eight years old.
She trembled, gripping her mother's hand tightly, anger and fear mingling in her small frame. Her mother, still collapsing in tears, watched helplessly as her beloved husband met his fate.
Our heroine woke up with a start at the sound of her alarm, tears still glistening in her eyes as memories of her father's death flashed before her.
She rubbed her eyes, shaking off the drowsiness, and switched off the alarm. Slowly, she got out of bed.
On her way to the bathroom, she glanced up and froze for a moment. Her eyes met a picture of her late father. She stood there, lost in thought.
I will never forget what happened to you, my dear father, she whispered to herself. One day, I will make sure justice is served.
Taking a deep breath, she continued toward the bathroom. After washing up and taking a shower, she dressed carefully, her mind still lingering on her father's memory.
She headed to the kitchen, where her beloved mother was preparing breakfast. The warm aroma of toast and coffee filled the room, offering a small comfort in the quiet morning.
Her mother looked up and smiled softly. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle yet tired from the early hour
Natalie walked toward her mother with a warm smile.
"Good morning, Mom," she said.
Sophia moved toward the dining table to set it.
"Come on, Natalie. You'll be late for work," she said.
Natalie pulled out a chair and sat down across from her mother.
"Don't worry, Mom. I still have an hour left."
Sophia looked at her quietly while chewing her food.
"How's work these days? Any cases you're working on?" she asked.
Natalie quickly swallowed a bite before replying.
"Hmm, yes. I just heard from Sam that there's an investigation into a murder that happened yesterday at one of the hotels."
Sophia paused, raising an eyebrow as she set her spoon down.
"Who's Sam?" she asked curiously.
Natalie blinked in surprise and stood up, looking at her mother.
"Wait, Mom… you really don't know who Sam is? Sam Reed — my colleague at the department! I tell you about his pranks all the time."
"Oh, right! I remember now. That troublemaker," Sophia said, smacking her forehead with her palm.
"Goodbye, Mom!" Natalie called out as she rushed to the door, blowing her mother a quick kiss before leaving.
Somewhere else, we find ourselves standing in front of what seems to be a house…
But wait—did I just call it a house? No, no. This is not a house.
It's pure chaos. Clothes are scattered across every corner, fast-food bags litter the floor, and empty water bottles roll lazily under the couch. It looks more like a dumpster than a living space.
Inside this "house," specifically in the bathroom, our protagonist stands in front of the mirror. Nicholas Collins is brushing his teeth, splashing water on his face, and admiring his reflection.
He leans closer to the mirror, tilts his head left and right, and smirks to himself.
"Oh, Nicholas… who's this handsome man staring back at me? Ah, right—it's the charming, irresistible Nicholas Collins."
Mean while, in another room of the same house, a man is still fast asleep—until he suddenly rolls off the bed and lands on the floor with a loud thud.
"Ouch! My head… feels like I got run over by a truck," groaned Luca, rubbing his temple before dragging himself toward the bathroom to get ready for work.
But inside the bathroom, Nicholas is still admiring himself, humming a tune as if he has all the time in the world.
"Get out of the bathroom, you idiot! We're going to be late—again!" Luca shouted, already sounding frustrated at the daily ritual.
"Five more minutes!" Nicholas called back, now singing louder, enjoying every second of his private concert.
Luca banged on the door, losing his patience.
"For God's sake, get out! I need to use the bathroom!"
Finally, Nicholas opened the door, his face calm and annoyingly smug.
"Doesn't a man deserve to enjoy his shower in peace?" he said, with mock innocence.
Luca shoved him aside and stormed in, slamming the door behind him.
"When I get out, I swear I'm going to show you who really gets to 'enjoy' their morning," he muttered under his breath.
Police sirens blared.
Yellow tape surrounded the scene.
Crowds gathered, murmuring in fear and curiosity, their voices a mix of panic and confusion. Officers struggled to control the restless onlookers. All of this unfolded in one of the city's most famous hotels.
"Damn it, Natalie! Where have you been all this time?" Sam Reed shouted, running his hand through his hair in frustration, clearly on edge from the situation.
Michael, standing next to him, added with a frown,
"She's taking forever. Is she even coming?"
Sam sighed, trying to calm himself.
"She said she was nearby half an hour ago. I don't know what's taking her so long."
"Sorry I'm late," Natalie's voice cut through the noise as she pushed her way through the crowd, slightly out of breath from practically running.
"There was heavy traffic on the way."
She glanced at the chaos and smirked at her colleagues.
"What's all this? Couldn't the police clear the area yet?" she asked sarcastically, clearly unimpressed with their inability to disperse the crowd.
Her sharp tone silenced the murmurs.
Her hawk-like eyes scanned the scene before she commanded, voice firm and cold:
"Everyone, back to your rooms. I don't want to see a single person here unless they're guilty of something. Move!"
The crowd froze for a moment, then began to scatter. This wasn't the voice of an ordinary woman — it was one of authority, and everyone felt it.
"Bring me the hotel manager within three minutes," Natalie ordered sharply.
"He was here earlier," Michael replied nervously. "He left to gather the hotel staff but should be back any moment."
"Good," she said with a nod.
"Go with him, Michael. Make sure all employees are gathered in one place. Sam and I will inspect the body in the meantime."
"On it," Michael said before heading for the door and shutting it behind him to give them space to work.
Natalie slipped on her gloves with cold precision.
"Let's get started," she said flatly.
Inside the hotel room, Natalie put on her gloves and crouched beside the lifeless body lying on the carpet.
Her sharp eyes swept across the scene. There was "a single stab wound to the chest," and the shirt's shoulders were gently torn, as if someone had grabbed them.
She leaned closer to examine the chest wound, her piercing gaze deepening.
"Hmm… the wound is deep, and it's far from clean. Whoever tried to kill him was definitely not a professional," Natalie murmured in a cold, sarcastic tone.
Sam, standing behind her with his arms crossed, asked,
"Do you think this was personal?"
Natalie didn't answer immediately. She continued inspecting the rest of the body, moving to the left hand, examining it from palm to fingernails, then doing the same with the right hand.
Her hawk-like eyes caught something unusual under the victim's nails.
She focused harder and saw small threads lodged underneath.
"Looks like fabric threads," Sam said as he stepped closer, holding out a plastic evidence bag for her to put them in.
"Take it to Michael so he can get it to the lab and find out what it belongs to," Natalie ordered calmly.
She then began scanning the rest of the room — toward the balcony, behind the curtains, every corner.
Her gaze fell on the fruit plate. One knife was missing.
"Hmm… a crime of passion. She just grabbed whatever was closest to her."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "She?"
Natalie didn't answer again. Instead, she moved toward the body's head. Something shiny caught her eye.
She knelt once more, reaching out her right hand toward the victim's head, running her fingers to the back of his neck.
With a sharp tug, she pulled out a small broken piece of a brooch.
Natalie raised an eyebrow, then ordered Sam:
"Gather all the female staff and the manager now."
Sam immediately did as he was told, muttering under his breath about how sharp and observant Natalie was.
In another room of the hotel, the manager and all the staff stood tense. Some were sweating from anxiety, others biting their nails in nervousness, while some stared at the floor, unable to face the situation. A few stood coldly, as if nothing happening concerned them. The air was thick, their breaths almost audible. Police had the place cordoned off, and Michael stood among them like a hawk, watching everyone, ready for any attempt to flee. One of the guards sent the evidence Natalie had found to the investigation department, remaining on high alert.
Natalie stepped forward, a cold, mocking smile on her face, followed by Sam, who had no idea what this "Scorpion" had in mind. Her steps were slow, deliberate, each click of her heel slicing the silence like a slap across their faces. Her eyes moved from one face to another, reading every twitch, every tremor.
Sam's deep voice cut through the tension:
"We've found some evidence, which is enough for us to identify the killer, but we will complete formal procedures before making any arrests."
He finished, hands in pockets, scanning them one by one.
Murmurs erupted some fearful, some curious, others silent but burning with curiosity.
Suddenly, Natalie's voice rang out, sharp as a blade:
"Anyone who speaks now will honor us tonight in the holding cells!"
She then turned to Michael, her gaze piercing:
"Michael, any sound, any whisper… I want the culprit restrained immediately, whether man or woman."
Michael nodded quickly, standing ready for any move.
Natalie advanced toward the manager, her gaze sweeping the staff like bullets, making them even more uneasy. She stopped in front of the manager, hands in pockets, and said firmly:
"I want all information about this guest: when he arrived, whom he interacted with, and the last person who saw him. Swear to me, any attempt to lie will be your first step toward the interrogation room."
The manager's voice trembled:
"I've told the police everything… I already gave them all these details."
Natalie's hand twitched toward his collar but she controlled herself, shouting:
"I want to hear it again! Or should I extract the truth by force?"
The manager responded quickly, desperate:
"Ethan Martin, a regular guest who visits occasionally. He came Sunday evening at 9:30, stayed the night, and was last seen Monday morning… that's all I know!"
Natalie said nothing, turning and pacing in front of the staff, her eyes penetrating them like rifles. She circled some female employees as if hunting prey, suddenly stopping at one, placing her hand on the girl's injured shoulder. The girl flinched in pain, and Natalie moved on to another. She stared into the second girl's eyes for a moment, then reached for a brooch on her chest:
"Oh, this brooch is lovely… where did you get it?"
The girl replied without hesitation:
"It's not mine… it belonged to Soumi. A small piece broke off, and she gave it to me instead of throwing it away."
Natalie raised an eyebrow:
"And where is Soumi?"
A quiet, trembling voice answered:
"I'm here…"
It was Soumi, regret and fear evident in her eyes. Natalie approached, pressing again on her injured shoulder, almost bringing her to her knees.
"Why did you kill him?.
Three words, cold as ice.
Soumi stammered:
"Wh…what are you talking about? I… I didn't do anything!"
Natalie repeated sharply, slicing the air:
"I asked, why did you kill him?"
Sam stepped forward angrily
"Is that question so hard? Are we going to stay here forever?"
Natalie raised her hand to stop him. He stepped back, sighing with frustration, exchanging a look with Michael who shared the same irritation.
Natalie leaned slightly toward Soumi, speaking with icy sarcasm:
"This is the last time I'll ask. Think before you answer… or your end will be darker than your own eyes."
Tears streamed down Soumi's face. She sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, finally speaking in broken sentences:
"He… he tried to assault me! It wasn't the first time… every time I tried to avoid him, he stalked me, trying to touch me secretly. I tried to tell the manager, but he cared only for money! And when he tried one last time… I didn't realize it until he was lying dead in front of me…"
Natalie turned her face coldly:
"Take her and the manager to the holding cells."
Sam restrained the manager despite his shouting about innocence, while Michael bound Soumi, who surrendered in tears. The rest of the staff whispered anxiously, fearing for their jobs.
Michael chuckled lightly, hitting Sam on the shoulder:
"Another one done by Natalie Blake… a new crime, and just hours to catch the killer. This girl is terrifying!"
Sam and Michael laughed as they followed Natalie out through the back door, avoiding the press
In a place far away, we stand before a large house, more like a haunted mansion than a home. Inside, in a dimly lit room, a lone figure sits at a desk, swallowed by shadows. The only light comes from a single candle flickering on the desk, casting long, restless shadows across the walls. Heavy, uneven breaths escape him one cannot tell if they are angered gasps or weary sighs.
He rises slowly and approaches the window, eyes scanning the passersby below. In his hand, a phone he speaks to someone unseen, a voice shrouded in mystery. Only a few sharp, cutting words escape his lips:
"The game has begun. Now, begin execution… and make sure nothing survives."
The candle flickers violently, shadows twisting across his face, revealing just the cold, ruthless intent in his eyes