Badass in Disguise Chapter 214

Jade's POV:

The private jet touched down at Moscow International Airport with barely a whisper. Through the window, I could see an impressive line of black SUVs waiting on the tarmac, flanked by at least twenty men in suits and tactical gear. Typical Night.

As I descended the stairs, the cold Russian air bit at my face. Night stood at the bottom, arms wide open, his curly hair dancing in the wind. The moment he spotted me, his face lit up with an almost childish excitement.

"Welcome, sweetie!" he called out.

I ignored his theatrics, tossing my backpack at him as I walked past. He caught it effortlessly, unbothered by my coldness.

"Baby!" Night's voice was warm honey, trailing after me. "Did you miss me?"

"I'm hungry," I replied flatly, continuing toward the lead SUV without breaking stride.

Night immediately perked up, hurrying to catch up. "Home it is! Everything's ready—all your favorites."

---

Night's private estate sat on the outskirts of Moscow, a sprawling property that would make oligarchs jealous. The meticulous Russian gardens to the left, with their symmetrical pathways and carefully pruned trees. To the right, a private pool complex gleamed under the afternoon sun.

The SUV pulled up to the main house, where a line of staff stood at attention—the housekeeper, chef, and various assistants, all looking nervous except for the oldest man, Mikhail, who had served Night's family for decades.

I stepped out of the vehicle and walked straight past them toward the dining room, familiar with the layout from previous visits.

I took the seat at the head of the table without hesitation. Night smiled and sat to my right rather than challenging my claim to his usual place.

"Wine?" he offered, already uncorking a bottle of what looked like obscenely expensive red.

"Vodka first," I said, "then wine."

Night's laugh echoed through the room. "Some things never change." He produced a frosted bottle of premium Russian vodka and poured two shots.

The first course arrived—caviar on blini with crème fraîche. I took a bite and nodded in approval.

"Good?" Night asked, watching me intensely.

"Yes," I admitted.

Night beamed. "Then don't go back. I'll keep this chef here just for you. Every day, whatever you want."

"How's your father?" I asked between bites of perfectly cooked venison.

"Better, thanks to you." Night's voice grew serious. "He asks about you. We'll visit him some day?"

"Yes."

"Like a pretty daughter-in-law meeting the in-laws," he teased.

"Fuck off," I replied without heat.

Night chuckled. "Remember that surgery you performed? Three years ago? When every doctor in Russia said his brain aneurysm was inoperable?" He shook his head in wonder. "They still talk about it in medical circles—the mysterious Dr. Blackwell who appeared, saved the great man's life, then vanished."

"Speaking of injuries," I said, "shouldn't you be worried about Chris?"

Night's face darkened. "Jensen? What happened to him?"

"Kidnapped. Tortured."

"He'll live."

I finished my wine and set down the glass. "My computer—you still have it?"

"Of course. In my room, in the safe. I charge it regularly, check it monthly. No one's touched it but me."

---

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged on Night's bed, my old laptop open before me. The screen glowed with familiar code as I accessed the iris recognition program I'd created years ago.

"I need to implant iris lenses," I said without looking up. "My original pattern needs to be accessible."

Night, leaning against the doorframe, nodded. "Give me a timeline, and I'll arrange it."

---

A week later, I stood in front of a mirror in Night's guest bathroom, carefully examining my eyes. The surgery had been flawless—the implanted lenses containing my original iris pattern were undetectable, even to me. I blinked a few times, testing the feel.

My visit to Night's parents had gone as expected. I'd checked his recovery, confirmed the aneurysm repair was holding, and updated my medical credentials while I was there.

The new Russian medical license in my bag read "Dr. Jade Morgan" now.

---

My cliff-side villa overlooked the Black Sea, its modernist architecture jutting dramatically from the rocky coastline. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the structure, and the setting sun painted everything in deep orange and gold.

I rose on tiptoes for the iris scan. The system hummed as it processed my data.

"Welcome home, master," the AI house system announced, its voice echoing through the empty space.

The lights came on sequentially, and I heard the soft whir of cleaning robots activating throughout the house. The air filtration system kicked in, clearing out the staleness.

"Home sweet home," I murmured, stepping inside.

The villa was exactly as I'd left it—minimalist furnishings and state-of-the-art technology.

I moved directly to the elevator at the center of the house, leaning in for another iris scan. 'Basement level one,' I commanded.

The elevator descended smoothly. When the doors opened, I stepped into my personal vault. The walls were lined with safety deposit boxes of various sizes, each requiring iris authentication.

I went to the largest box and opened it, retrieving my black card—untraceable, unlimited, and accepted anywhere in the world. Next to it lay my old medical license with the name "Dr. Blackwell" and my photo. I tossed it into my bag.

"Basement level two," I said, returning to the elevator.

The second basement level housed my vehicle collection—a gleaming array of supercars and limited-edition models that would make Chase Astor weep with joy. Lamborghinis, Bugattis, Koenigseggs, McLarens—each more rare and valuable than the last.

I pulled out my phone and snapped photos of the collection, sending them to Chase with a simple message: "Pick one for your birthday."

The response was immediate—a video call. I answered to see Chase's face, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Holy fucking shit, Jade!" he practically screamed. "Where the hell is this?"

I watched as he jumped off his bed and ran to his closet, frantically searching for clothes.

"I'm overseas," I said simply.

Chase froze. "Which country? I'm coming!"

"The cars," I redirected him. "Want one or not?"

"Of course! Are you going to buy me one or..." he trailed off, uncertain.

I raised an eyebrow. "Give you one. This is my garage."

"YOUR GARAGE?" His voice hit a pitch I didn't think possible for a male. "Jade, will you marry me? I'm serious. We can do it right now. I'll get on a plane."

"If you don't shut up and pick a car, I'll hang up," I threatened mildly.

Chase composed himself with visible effort. "The gunmetal gray Koenigsegg. No, wait—the matte black McLaren. No! The—"

"You have ten seconds."

"The blue Bugatti! Final answer!"

I nodded. "It'll be delivered next week."

I ended the call and selected a sleek gray Lamborghini for myself. "Have this brought up," I instructed the robotic attendant.

"Yes, master," it replied, rolling toward the vehicle.

"Basement level three," I commanded, returning to the elevator once more.

The lowest level was my personal armory—walls lined with weapons of every variety, from traditional firearms to custom-designed explosives of my own creation. In my previous life, I'd spent countless hours here, drinking vodka and finding comfort in the deadly precision of my arsenal.

I picked up a handgun, feeling its familiar weight. Without hesitation, I aimed at a target across the room and fired several shots in rapid succession. The bullets clustered in the center.

As I surveyed the weapons, a thought crossed my mind: Ethan was an arms dealer and weapons designer. He'd probably appreciate this collection. Perhaps I should bring him here someday.

The gray Lamborghini was waiting when I returned to the main floor. The AI house system had prepared a light lunch, exactly to my specifications. I sat at the kitchen counter, enjoying the perfect silence broken only by the gentle hum of the house systems.

By noon, I was ready to hang out.

I slid into the Lamborghini, feeling the engine purr to life beneath me.