The White House was never supposed to fall this quickly.
Leon Magnus had been in countless life-threatening situations, but nothing compared to the sheer precision of this attack. The first gunshot had barely rung out before half his team was dead. The intruders were a well-trained, highly coordinated force—moving like shadows, cutting through security with ruthless efficiency. Women, all of them, clad in tactical gear, their faces obscured behind high-tech masks.
Leon had barely drawn his weapon before a flashbang went off, disorienting him. In the chaos, he felt a sharp jab at his ribs—an impact, not a bullet. A stun baton. His muscles seized, his vision blurred, and before he could react, rough hands dragged him backward.
By the time his vision cleared, he was inside the Oval Office.
The door slammed shut behind him. The air was thick with tension. The President—a man Leon had sworn to protect—was nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes locked onto her.
She sat on the edge of the Resolute Desk as if it were her throne.
Her silver-streaked black hair cascaded in untamed waves down her shoulders, framing a face that was both breathtaking and deadly. Dark eyes, lined with smudged kohl, studied him with an almost amused detachment. Her lips, full and painted a deep shade of crimson, curled at the edges into something between a smirk and a warning.
She wore a black leather tactical jacket, adorned with silver embellishments that gleamed under the dim lights. Her toned body was clad in tight, reinforced combat gear, holsters strapped to her thighs, knives and pistols gleaming at her waist. A delicate chain hung loosely around her neck, the pendant resting just above the plunging neckline of her combat corset.
She radiated control. Leon’s breath steadied. His hands were tied, but his mind raced. Who the hell was she?