TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 2 | THE GAME BEGINS

LOUIS 🗡
Monday, 9:54am

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"WHO THE HELL WAS GOING TO TELL ME THEY HAVE A DAUGHTER?" I yelled, storming down the marble hallway with anger.

After an hour trying to wriggle myself out of the chair, I managed to find my entire team knocked out in the warehouse basement, with no trace of the Ash Family left behind. That girl—[y/n] whatever—kept true to her statements.

She humiliated me.

And she was going to pay.

Ignoring the looks of terror I received from those milling around Headquarters, I kept my eyes narrowed and my pace set. I threw open the door to my office with more than enough hatred to set the whole world on fire. Years of training—everything I gave to the SIS tearing at my strength—seemed like nothing when I looked that girl in the eye. The only reason why she was able to beat me was because she wasn't supposed to exist.

The Ash Family had a secret daughter.

Bloody Hell.

"Mirror, Partridge," William said as soon as I stormed in, "don't speak, just face the mirror."

"I'm not going to face the damn mirror," I spat out, slamming the door behind me.

My friend pursed his lips. "That wasn't a request, it was an order."

"You don't give me orders, Franklyn-Miller."

And in that moment I knew it was the wrong thing to spit out of my mouth. As soon as my tongue slipped, the man's eyes darkened, and he slowly rose from his chair and placed the pads of his fingers on the wood of his desk.

"I told you to face the mirror, and I will not ask again," he said sharply, "now do as I say, Partridge."

The thing about William Franklyn-Miller, was that he worked for no one but the SIS. He served as my assistant, occasionally accompanied me on missions, but that didn't mean he worked for me. The glare in his cold, blue eyes told me he had no hesitation to act against me if I stepped out of line.

So, doing as he said, I faced the mirror tacked tightly to the white walls of our office.

"An agent is calm, quick, and controlled," he said, circling me like a vulture, "they do not express emotion freely, even in the most dire of situations."

While it was rare, whenever I lost my temper, I was instructed to do the mirror-trick. Part of William's assignment to me was because of situations like this. I had to look myself in the eyes, and view myself as whatever I am in the moment—acknowledge my anger and understand that I cannot show it. If my reflection was anything other than a poised, perfect agent, then I wasn't worthy of respect.

"The most immature thing an agent can do is become a hot-tempered mess in front of everyone else," William continued, "you set an example for everyone else here, do you understand?"

"I understand."

"And you look like a mess, Partridge, either get yourself together or quit."

He was right. Disheveled hair, darkened eyes, and a bruised cheek from when I'd gotten hit by the meat slab (which sounds pathetic, by the way) was what I saw in my reflection. The collar of my suit was uneven and messy, and my tie lay half-untied around my neck from when I pulled it off in anger—traits of a foul temper.

"I don't quit," I mumbled under my breath.

William rolled his eyes. "Clearly, because you can't seem to quit being so bloody emotional."

"I was humiliated, William!" I snapped back defensively, turning my head to glare at him, "I have every right to be angry, and to hell if I'm going to let that slide. I am going to everything in my power to get my respect back, even if it means blowing a fuse."

There was a pause, where William leaned against the side of his desk as he pulled my outburst over. Then he cocked a brow.

"Humiliated, you say?" He grinned.

"Out of everything I just said, that's what you took?" I frowned, "unbelievable."

"Who humiliated you?"

"No one."

"I said quit being emotional, Partridge, lose the dramatics."

God, sometimes I hate William with a burning passion. He always has a point, but he knows he has a point, so he lords it over me whenever he possibly can.

"[y/n] Ash," I said, my teeth gritted, "ever heard of her?"

Something flickered in the man's eyes.

"You're not saying the Ash Duo has a daughter, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

I didn't give him the chance to fathom a response, before ditching the mirror and pacing across the room. An agent has poise—but I have a reputation to keep. Even the thought of her steely eyes in the dark of that warehouse fueled the fire of hatred in my heart.

"And I don't care how long it takes," I said, slamming my hand on my desk, "I won't stop until she's behind bars where she belongs."

Flicking on my computer monitor, I waited till it powered up before typing the password in. I had research to do, and I wouldn't let anything stop me from getting revenge on the girl who thought she could ruin my reputation and get away with it.

I searched everything. I searched every system with the name [y/n] ash, but nothing was coming up. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack—so many names, but none of them belonging to those dangerous eyes burned into the back of my head.

Hours I sat there, staring at a screen, unable to look away with determination. William had retired to his room in the employee district of HQ by the time I had moved on from names to description, but I was still going.

Nothing was going to stop me from finding her. Nothing could distract me, and nothing could hinder my already growing frustration—

Ding!

The small box of an email flashed onto my screen, displaying a closed envelope and a small red circle bearing the number 1. I narrowed my eyes, leaning into the back of my chair in suspicion.

Clicking on the message, a tab opened, displaying an anonymous email address at the very top of the listing. But there were only six words typed out below.

Catch me if you can, Darling.