SHADOWLESS LOVE

NOTICE: THIS STORY IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. IT DOES NOT REPRESENT ANY ORGANIZATION OR INTEND TO HARM ANY MORAL BELIEF.

The warm sunlight filtered through the wooden shutters, casting soft, golden streaks across the room. The gentle scent of cedar lingered, a constant reminder of the little haven we called home. I stirred awake, feeling small, soft hands cupping my cheeks. A smile tugged at my lips before my eyes even opened.

"Wake up, Papa."

His voice, tender and sweet, carried just the faintest edge of impatience. I cracked one eye open and was met with two bright hazel-green orbs staring back at me, full of curiosity and love.

"Good morning, Bubu," I said, pulling him into my arms with a chuckle.

He wriggled and giggled, trying to escape, but it was no use—four-year-olds weren't exactly built for wrestling grown men.

"Don't call me Bubu, Papa. I'm a big boy now!" he declared, puffing out his chest as he stood proudly on the bed.

"Oh? Mr. Big Boy, who isn't even four feet tall?" I teased, watching his cheeks flush crimson.

"Papa, you're so naughty!" He huffed, but his pout gave way to a toothy grin.

This was our rhythm—little banters, soft laughter, and quiet mornings in our snug cottage nestled deep in the countryside.

Our home wasn't much, but it was ours. A two-story wooden cottage, weathered by time but still standing strong. The beams were sturdy, the walls cozy with their uneven planks, and the faint creak of the stairs was as familiar as a lullaby. Outside, the village was a picture of tranquility—rolling fields, dense forests, and distant mountains framing a world that felt like it was plucked from a fairytale. The people here were kind, living off the land and cherishing simplicity.

 I ran a small café in the heart of the village market. It wasn't grand, but it was mine. Selling coffee and desserts, watching the joy on people's faces as they sipped or bit into something I'd made—that was happiness.

"Papa, let's make pancakes!" Rigel's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He was already darting out of the room, his tiny feet pattering on the wooden floor.

With a sigh, I got up and looked in the mirror. Jewel-like crimson eyes stared back at me, striking against my pale skin. My navy-blue hair, falling slightly over my forehead, caught the light, glinting like polished sapphire. The sharp angles of my jawline and pointed nose contrasted with my full lips, giving me a look that villagers often called "unforgettable." At six feet two inches, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, I knew I stood out, even in a quiet place like this.

By the time I made it downstairs, Rigel was hopping around the kitchen, holding a carton of eggs like it was treasure.

"Papa, pancakes!"

"No pancakes today," I said firmly. His wail of protest echoed through the kitchen as I started preparing something else.

But then the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

Rigel froze, the eggs still clutched in his hands.

"Papa? Are we having guests?" His voice was light, but his eyes were wide, uncertain.

I crouched down and gave him a soft smile, though my heart had already darkened. "Bubu, go upstairs and hide in our secret space, okay?"

He nodded, understanding far beyond his years flashing in his innocent eyes. His little legs carried him upstairs as the bell rang again, insistent now.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

I straightened, my face hardening as I set the knife down on the counter. Rolling up my sleeves, I strode to the door, every step deliberate.

When I opened it, there they were—more than twenty men in black suits, each one armed, their guns trained on me.

A slow grin spread across my face as I leaned against the doorframe, my crimson eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

"Well," I drawled, my voice calm, almost amused. "It seems like I've got myself a welcoming committee. Aren't I lucky?"

Their silence spoke volumes, but it didn't matter. Whatever they wanted, they weren't getting it without a fight.