My Secret Wife Is A Top Hacker

The morning sun hit the pavement as Walter, the Vance family driver, stood by the black Rolls-Royce. He rubbed his temples, dreading the moment the front doors would open. He prayed the young master wouldn't come out wearing another neon disaster.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

Walter watched in the reflection of the polished window as the young master paused by the foyer's crystal candy bowl, casually plucking a white lollipop and slipping it into his mouth before stepping outside.

Zero stepped out. She wore a perfectly tailored Ivy League uniform. The dark blazer fit her shoulders flawlessly, the tie was knotted with military precision, and her hands were casually shoved into her trouser pockets.

Walter's jaw literally dropped.

The sunlight caught the silver tips of her short, messy hair. She had a white lollipop stick resting in the corner of her mouth. She looked devastatingly handsome, radiating a lazy, lethal arrogance.

Zero walked up to the car. Walter just stood there, staring.

She tilted her head slightly. "Open the door."

The low, magnetic rasp of her voice snapped Walter out of his trance. He scrambled to grab the handle, his palms slick with nervous sweat. He didn't dare ask a single question.

Zero slid into the spacious leather backseat. She crossed her long legs and pulled out an English financial magazine, shutting out the world.

The Rolls-Royce glided out of the estate, the city blurring past the tinted windows until they reached River City Academy.

At the main gates, clusters of wealthy students loitered. Laughter rang out as a group of boys joked about whether the "gay freak" Zero would show up crying today.

The black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. The sheer presence of the car made the chatter die down.

Walter stepped out and opened the rear door. A long leg clad in pressed dark trousers stepped out first.

Zero emerged into the sunlight. She narrowed her dark eyes against the glare and reached up, casually running a hand through her silver hair.

The silence that fell over the courtyard was absolute.

A girl standing near the gate loosened her grip. Her Starbucks cup hit the concrete, iced coffee splashing everywhere. She didn't even blink.

The boys rubbed their eyes, a few cursing under their breath. Their brains physically could not connect this breathtaking, cold-eyed boy to the pathetic loser they mocked yesterday.

Zero ignored their gaping mouths. She shifted the lollipop to the other side of her cheek and walked straight toward the main building. Her strides were measured, unhurried.

The crowd instinctively parted for her. Girls clutched their books to their chests, their cheeks flushing crimson as they watched her back.

From the back of the crowd, a guy who regularly bullied the old Zero felt a spike of insecure anger. "Acting tough, you fucking faggot?" he yelled.

Zero stopped walking.

The temperature in the courtyard seemed to plummet. Everyone held their breath. Zero slowly turned around.

Her dark eyes locked onto the boy. There was no anger in her gaze. It was completely flat. It was the look a butcher gives a slab of meat. The killing intent radiating from her was so heavy it felt physical.

The boy's knees buckled. He stumbled backward, his spine slamming hard into a metal trash can. Cold sweat drenched his shirt.

Zero let out a soft, mocking scoff. She turned back around and kept walking.

She entered the main hallway. Whispers followed her like a physical wave. She navigated using the old Zero's memories, stopping in front of her assigned locker.

Her eyes darkened.

The metal door was covered in fresh, dripping red spray paint. Faggot. Loser. Freak.

A few feet away, a group of jocks leaned against the wall, whistling and laughing, waiting for her to break down and cry.

Zero's face remained entirely blank. She reached out a pale, slender finger and swiped it across the wet red paint. The crimson stained her skin.

She calmly pulled a crisp white handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the paint off her finger, taking her time.

The jocks snickered louder.

Without warning, Zero shifted her weight. Her right leg snapped up in a brutal, lightning-fast arc. Instead of relying on brute force her new body didn't possess, she targeted the structural weakness. Her heavy leather shoe slammed precisely into the lock cylinder.

BANG!

The explosive sound echoed down the long hallway like a gunshot. The sheer kinetic precision shattered the internal tumblers instantly. The locker door violently popped open, rebounding off the adjacent lockers with a deafening metallic screech.

The jocks flinched violently, the whistles dying on their lips.

Zero shot them a single, freezing glare. She reached into the ruined locker, pulled out a textbook, and walked toward her classroom, leaving the destroyed metal hanging on its hinges.