First to reach her consciousness was the faint chirping of birds outside Ruth Lee's window as she stirred awake. Stretching languidly under the warm duvet, she did not want to leave its warmth. Of late, it had become her routine to stay in bed for as long as possible. She yawned groggily and turned her head toward the bedside alarm clock.
One o'clock in the afternoon?!
Ruth sprang upright, heart racing. How had she overslept on her birthday?
Reaching for her phone, she swiped through the screen and was bombarded by hundreds of notifications. TikTok, Instagram, X—birthday wishes from fans, friends, and even strangers flooded her inbox. She half-heartedly replied to a few, then tossed her phone onto the bed.
"Happy birthday to me," she mumbled, dragging herself to the bathroom.
She finally came out and wasn't any better. Her chest was tight, and the weight of the world had finally settled upon her. She remembered the argument last night with her father, Peter Lee, and her brother, Frank Xia. The two of them had insisted she needed to go to Shanghai today to take over a family business meeting, while Ruth threw a tantrum and refused to go, convinced she was winning.
But why was it so quiet now?
Casually dressed in a shirt and jeans, Ruth came out of her room, anticipating that Frank would be in the lounge, brooding, with his laptop, or that Peter was pacing in his study. But instead of all that, a weird silence greeted her.
"Frank?" she called out, starting down the stairs. "Dad?"
Her voice echoed in the large house. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the staff to work in silence, but this silence was different.
"Maria?" Ruth called out for the family's long-time housekeeper. No response.
Irritation started to set in. Were they planning some sort of surprise birthday party? If so, they were doing a really lousy job.
As Ruth entered the lounge, her annoyance froze into pure terror.
Blood.
It was everywhere.
Her breath caught, her legs quivering beneath her. Black-uniformed men lay sprawled across the floor in grotesque positions, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. Bullet wounds riddled their bodies. Blood soaked the walls, pooling on the floor in sickening puddles.
Ruth stumbled backward, one hand clamped over her mouth to hold back a scream. Her knees buckled, and she spun, racing toward the kitchen.
She stopped dead.
Maria, the housekeeper who had practically raised her, lay motionless on the kitchen floor. Her throat was slit, her eyes wide open in a frozen expression of terror.
Ruth's stomach churned. She clutched the counter for support, but her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
"This. this can't be real," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
The metallic taste of blood filled her nostrils. Her body was numb, while her mind ran wild. She needed to find her father and brother. Perhaps they were hidden in some corner, safe.
"Frank!" Ruth screamed, scrambling to her feet.
Upstairs, she opened every door. Emptiness and deafening silence attacked her from every corner of the rooms.
"Dad! Frank!" Her voice broke under the intensity of desperation.
There was no answer.
Ruth went to her bedroom and locked the door. Her trembling hands went to the opener on the desk. She clutched it firmly, the only thing that could defend her. Her breathing was in quick gasps while she tried to steady herself.
"This is just a bad dream," she whispered, pinching her arm. Sharp pain seared in, confirming her worst fear: this was no dream.
Her phone lay on the floor, where she had dropped it, the face cracked. She snatched it up and dialed Frank's number; her hands shook so hard that she almost dropped it again.
Voicemail.
She tried Peter's number next. The line was dead.
A sob broke free of her throat as the panic took hold. "What's happening? What do I do?"
She thought to call her best friend Esther but reconsidered the idea. Esther was too far away to help.
Then suddenly something caught Ruth's eye-a small piece of paper slipped under her door.
Her heart racing, Ruth tip-toed up to it and picked it up. The message, in her father's handwriting, was scribbled in great haste:
"Go to the study. Check the safe. Do not carry anything.
Ruth stared at the note, her mind racing. Peter's study was always locked. If it was open now, it meant something was very, very wrong.
Wiping her tears, Ruth steeled herself and crept out of her room. The hallway was eerily silent, the tension thick enough to choke her.
When she reached the study, the door was ajar.
Ruth pushed it open cautiously. The room was in disarray, books strewn across the floor, drawers yanked open. The safe in the corner stood untouched.
Her fingers fumbled as she entered the code. The door clicked open, revealing a single envelope and a small black device.
Inside the envelope was another note in Peter's handwriting:
"Trust no one. Leave the house immediately. Go to the address programmed into this device."
Ruth's grasp on the note tightened. What address? Why had her father left her with such cryptic instructions?
Her musings were cut short by the faintest noise, a creak in the hallway.
Her breath hitched. There was someone in the house.
Gripping the device and note, Ruth slipped out of the study and made a beeline for the back exit. She moved as silently as possible, her heart pounding at every step.
She was just reaching the door when a shadow fell behind her.
"Leaving so soon?" a cold voice drawled.
Ruth spun around, her eyes locking onto a tall figure in a dark suit. The man's face was expressionless, but his eyes gleamed with malice.
Then, in an instant, he attacked.
Ruth screamed, raising the letter opener in a futile defense as the man closed the gap between them.