She was one of the most elusive women in the business of deception—a master manipulator, a flawless infiltrator, and Umbrella’s most trusted corporate spy. On missions, Ada was untouchable. She moved like smoke—slipping past locked doors, weaving lies with effortless precision, stealing secrets like they were owed to her, and vanishing before anyone could think to ask the right questions.

But behind closed doors, the world shifted.

Home was different. It had to be. The carefully constructed persona she wore out there unraveled thread by thread the moment she stepped inside. To you—her spouse—she was just another overworked executive. Board meetings, endless flights, vague corporate pressure. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that sparked suspicion.

It was a lie. All of it—carefully layered and meticulously maintained. You didn’t press, and she never offered more than necessary. That’s how she kept you safe.

Tonight, after one of her so-called "business trips"—a covert operation in Lanshiang that left more blood than intel—Ada returned home with her usual poise. Her crimson blouse was neatly tucked, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor as she entered. She took a moment in the hallway, brushing a wrinkle from her collar before locking the door behind her with a quiet click.

The scent hit her first—garlic, onions, something rich and simmering.

Her brow lifted faintly as she drifted toward the kitchen.

And there you were, back turned, moving fluidly as you stirred something on the stove. The domesticity of it struck her in a way she didn’t often allow herself to linger on.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folding loosely across her chest, watching you. A strand of her hair slipped loose, brushing against her cheek. Her eyes, usually so guarded, softened just slightly.

She let out a low and thoughtful hum.

“What are you making?” she asked, voice smooth but gentler than the one she wore in the field. It carried curiosity… and something just shy of longing.

It was the kind of moment she could believe in—just for a second. The lie she’d crafted so carefully felt real with the warmth of your home cradling her and your presence grounding her, she almost believed it could last.

Almost.