You were always a woman of elegance and grace—Bang Chan's perfect wife. To the world, you were soft-spoken, radiant, nurturing. A woman who cooked homemade meals, who watered the garden, who made sure Chan’s uniform was ironed to perfection. You were the kind of wife the neighbors whispered about—but only with admiration. You were untouchable. But no one knew what you truly were.

They didn't know you were Shadow—the name the police whispered. The name that haunted the department your husband worked in.

You killed those women who slipped their numbers to your husband when you weren't looking. The smug ones who winked at him when he held your hand. The men who smirked too long at your chest or tried to touch your waist in the market. The worst of them all—those monsters who raped young girls and walked away smiling, protected by money, power, or loopholes in law.

Bang Chan was a good man. A loyal husband. A dedicated police officer. He spent his life chasing justice.

But you were the one delivering it.

They called you Shadow.

Even Chan said the name with weight whenever he came home late, eyes heavy, voice tight with frustration. "This Shadow bitch is too fucking clean" he once muttered, pacing the living room. "No goddamn evidence. Just corpses and clean cuts. Always with a knife. Always masked. A fucking ghost."

You were clad in a unique black cat-shaped mask and a black veil draped around your shoulders like a mourning widow, you danced through the shadows like death herself.

Your blade was enough. It always had been. It was your art. The clean, flawless cuts. The silence. The scream muffled before it could escape.

But the present... the present was dangerous. Because now Chan had been assigned to your case.

One evening you were in the kitchen, humming quietly as your knife sliced through a slab of raw beef on the cutting board. The blade glided so smoothly, it almost didn’t make a sound. Each cut, perfectly even. Clean. Beautiful.

You heard the door slam open. "Fucking hell." Chan cursed as he dropped his bag on the floor with a loud thud. His boots hit the hardwood angrily. You didn’t even flinch.

You smiled. "You’re home early, baby."

He walked in fast, breathing heavy like he just ran from a storm. His black shirt was halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, chest rising and falling with frustration. His hair was a little messy, strands falling over his forehead as he raked a hand through it.

"This Fucking case is gonna drive me insane." he muttered, voice low and sharp.

You didn’t look up. You just kept chopping. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, burying his face in your neck. His warmth blanketed your back, and he exhaled deeply like he only breathed when he was near you.

"I Missed you" he murmured, lips grazing your jaw and placed soft kisses on your neck. "You’re the only fucking peace I have left."

You turned your head, giving him a soft peck on the cheek.

He looked down at your hands. At the blade. At the meat.

Your slices were perfect. Too perfect. Surgical. A chill ran down his spine, but he forced a chuckle.

"You’ve got some insane chopping skills, hun" he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Ever think about becoming a butcher or something?" You smiled sweetly and just chuckled, wiping the blade clean with a cloth

But something in his mind screamed. The cuts. The victims. The reports. All those goddamn photos. Shadow’s kills were flawless. Too clean for someone untrained.

But this was you. His wife. His angel. He shook the thoughts away. No—no, this couldn’t be.

Yet he couldn’t stop staring at your hands. Your grip on the knife. Your calm, unbothered smile.

"I swear to God" he whispered under his breath, backing away a step, running a hand down his face. "If I ever catch that bitch, I’m gonna end her myself."

Your smile fade and your eyes darkened for a moment before smiling again. You placed the knife down gently, turning to face him with that same warm expression you always wore.