They say that there are five stages of grief, well I'd like to add one more...revenge.

I may not be Cruella or any other villain that you all may know to say that, but the things that I've done since the last eight years of my life might as well be enough to make people classify me in that category. I grew up with such a loving family that I didn't lose my innocence until my sixteenth birthday. The very same day that I witnessed their murder.

As a young child, I never thought about betrayal, but after I watched the very same man that my father has treated like his own brother mercilessly take the life of the rest of my family— only one thing rolled into my mind.

Revenge.

Pressing my fingertips on the piano keys firmly, I couldn't help but look ahead of me, knowing that he would be here soon.

It is a rainy day in New York, and Zayn Harold had booked me to hold a piano lesson for his only child. A four-year-old girl named Maya.

With my extensive search for her family's data, I've come across her photos multiple times. The little bitch resembled every part of the murderer who took everything away from me. They have the same eyes, the same hair color, and the same distinct smile that I used to love as a child.

That's not a big surprise to me, though.

Maya's father looked exactly like Maxwell Harold. Her grandfather, and the same son of a bitch that I've attempted to end the life of multiple times.

I had no luck in taking his breath away since the previous years, and so I chose to alternate my plans for the meantime.

I'm going to kill his children first, and he will go soon.

And as the mysterious deaths of his first four children came barreling through the news articles, I looked for a way to make his situation even worse.

I was never the one to throw hate around as a kid but after I was left in this cruel world alone, I don't get sad anymore.

I just get even.

With the use of my abilities in operating technology, I've managed to wreck him financially by pulling his businesses down painfully slowly.

And to this day, I'm still doing it.

I'm just waiting for his fourteen bank accounts to dry up.

The lives of the four Harolds might even out the four lives that their father has taken from me, but I refused to stop here.

For me, it just isn't enough.

Nothing's ever going to be enough.

Maxwell still has one son left, Zayn Harold.

And I want him to feel the pain that I felt when he made me gruesomely watch how he took the life of my family.

I just need to layer out the blueprint of my plan in order to do that.

As the arms of the antique clock moved slowly with time, I heard distinct footsteps coming my way.

And just as I looked at the door that led to the opera room, I saw them.

Determined by my desires, I put on the mask that I'd sculpted along with my fake persona.

There's no way that I would be able to forgive myself if I ended up getting caught because my acting skills stink.

That would be just terrible.

"Wow, this place looks like grandma's princess house in Pennsylvania," Said the stunned child as she roamed her big brown eyes around the theatre. "Do they have caskets too, Daddy?" She asked gripping the edge of her dad's expensive suit like her life depended on it.

Shaking his head, Zayn chuckled.

"No, baby," he answered tucking his daughter's hair out of her face. "They're not that weird here— well, let's hope they aren't." He added with a low whistle as his eyes continued to observe the place.

"But you like weird," Reasoned the child stopping midway. "You literally said that you live like a carrot." She added pointing at her father.

"I never said that," Denied Zayn.

"Oh really?" She challenged crossing her noddle arms above her chest. "Well let me state every abnormal thing that you have done today alone. First, you asked me if you could use my bubble soap as your shampoo this morning. You're thirty-three! Who does that?" She exclaimed raising three fingers in the air.

"We don't talk about that," Zayn whisper-yelled while he scratched the back of his neck out of embarrassment. "This is exactly why I don't bring you to public spaces." He added.

It is not a rare occurrence for four-year-olds to have this kind of mouth, but this child actually might be on the next level.

Laughing, Zayn just patted his daughter's head and finally looked at my direction.

And that is how we made eye contact for the first time.

I have enough pictures of him to know exactly how he looks, but having contact with him for the first time felt different.

"Ms. Monroe," he greeted with a casual smile. "It's a pleasure to finally see you." He added with a wave.

I mentally smirked at that.

Yeah, you would take that back soon. I thought to myself.

"Mr. Harold," I faked a smile, shaking my revenge-hunger thoughts aside. "You came." I added as I stood up from the bench to approach them.

As I walked towards them, Zayn's eye disappeared from my face and remained glued to my body.

The pervert.

"Please tell me she's my teacher," Begged the child interrupting her dad's eyes from looking into my cleavage. "There's no way that I'm playing piano if I'm getting the older ones." She threatened looking up at her father with a glare.

"I didn't ask you to play the piano so you could play dress-up with your teacher," he said interrupted. "And yes, she's going to be your teacher. Don't scare her. I'm not in the mood to find you a new one." He added as if he use this sentence with her everyday.

Clearing my throat, I walked the short distance between us and kneeled in front of the little girl once I've finally reached them.

I'm not a big fan of kids, but if I want to get Zayn Harold's trust— I know that I have to act like being with kids is my cup of tea.

"You must be Maya," I said trying to seem as child friendly as possible. "I'm Sabrina." I added extending my hand for her to shake.

But instead of shaking my hand like how she should, Maya just grinned like a maniac and basically leaped on me, making me almost fall on my back.

With my eyes still wide from the shock, I shifted from my position in total discomfort while Maya continued to hug me.

Oh god, please let it be over. I mentally prayed.

"I want a doll as pretty as you," she said letting her hand drop to her sides. "I would never have to look at anybody's face again." She added with a grin.

Smiling, I playfully pinched her by the cheek and took her hand. We walked over to the piano in the middle of the stage, and we both sat right there.

Using my lesson plan, I taught Maya the basics about the instrument since she's merely a kid. She was curious about everything that I told her, but it was obvious that she already knew the things that I was teaching her.

Because of that, I decided to teach her something that's a little bit more advanced; Fur Elise.

I explained everything that she needed to know about the composition in its simplest form and I wasn't even surprised that she learned how to play the entire composition in less than an hour.

By the time that our session was over, Maya and I were just fooling around with the instrument. Again, it isn't my cup of tea, but since it might help with my revenge crusade, I just went with the flow. Zayn isn't completely bored, but I could tell that he could be doing something better than just watching his daughter mess with her teacher.

With that in mind, I paused for a while and looked over at him.

"Do you play, Mr. Harold?" I asked with my fingers still on the keys.

Not pressing, it's basically just sitting there.

"Do you play the piano, Daddy?" Maya asked tilting her head to the side, awaiting for her dad's answer.

Zayn was hesitant to answer at first, but he got up from one of the seats in the auditorium and walked to the stage where we are.

"I took a few lessons when I was a kid," he said. "But I'm not sure if I can still play." He added as he hoisted Maya from the piano bench and made her sit on his lap after he occupied the space where she had been sitting since the last hour.

"Play for Elise," Maya requested with a clap of her hands. "You're buying us a baby Baldwin if you master this." She added, pointing her little finger at Zayn.

Zayn chuckled at that.

God, I've never seen a man act so sweet with a child before.

"Fine," he said before his eyes darted on me. "I'll play. But don't laugh at me if I end up sucking, teach." He added without breaking eye contact.

And just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed completely.

Zayn wasn't lying when he said that he took lessons. He played every chord perfectly, and I'm not sure if he was trying to be flirty or something, but he keeps glancing in my direction as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction.

By the time that he was done, Maya had already gone bored and had walked over to one of the seats in the auditorium to crouch down and get drowsy.

And as he hit the final note, he looked at me once again.

"You look oddly familiar, Ms. Monroe," he said, squinting his mesmerizing brown eyes. "Tell me, have we met before?" He asked.

Well, we haven't met before, but I watched your father murder my family when I was sixteen.

"I don't think we had, Mr. Harold," I faked. "But I used to see you in Calvin Klein photoshoots a lot." I added truthfully.

Don't ask me why or how, I'm just always in their studio.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Tell me how did a pretty girl like you ended up watching those sinful things." He added, scooting closer to me.

I arched an eyebrow at that.

I can't say that I was trying to be flirty, but when I saw him bite his lower lip seductively, I knew that he took it that way.

"So seeing you in only your boxers was a sin?" I retorted scooting closer to him as well.

That question seemed to throw him off guard, because he didn't say anything for quite some time.

But when he was about to say something, he was cut off by a loud noise.

A gunshot, to be exact.

And seconds after that, two men wearing the same black suit came running into the room.

"Mr. Harold," One of them said as the other went to the seats in the auditorium to pick Maya up. "They're here for you." He quickly added.

As soon as he said that, realization hit me like a semi-truck.

This is the best part of being undercover.

Opportunities to prove yourself to your target comes to your way when you're not even expecting it.

Standing up from the bench, I ran over to my sling bag in the corner and reached out for my trusty gun.

"It's been some time since I've used you, my friend," I said as I looked at my gun like how a psycho would look at a knife. "Now let's go shoot some bitches."