The Bigshot's Superstar Wife-Chapter 128: Alone

Athena had successfully completed her final mission. The moment Xavier Angelus drew his last breath, she knew there was no turning back.

It had been clean, efficient, just as expected of Agent 22, one of the finest assassins Eviantrinth had ever produced.

And with that, she was granted something she had never thought possible. Retirement.

Eviantrinth, ranked second among the world’s deadliest assassin guilds, did not easily let go of its operatives, especially one as skilled as her.

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But she had earned it. Years of bloodshed, of missions completed without failure, of precise kills that left no trace.

In return, she walked away with a fortune so vast, it would last multiple lifetimes. Yet, what use did she have for wealth when she had spent her entire existence living in the shadows?

She settled far from the life she once knew, retreating to a secluded cabin deep within the woods of an unassuming country in Asia.

Here, there were no contracts, no targets, no whispers of death following her every step. Only silence.

The kind that stretched endlessly, pressing against her as if waiting for her to break.

For a while, she thought she could grow accustomed to it. The simplicity of waking up without orders, of not constantly looking over her shoulder.

She would gather firewood, drink tea on the porch, watch the seasons change in slow, peaceful transitions. But peace, it seemed, was not something she was built for.

The nights were the worst. She would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, hands shaking from nightmares that were not just dreams, they were memories.

In them, she stood on the battlefield once more, surrounded by smoke and fire, blaster in hand.

She would see Mors Jericho, his figure half-obscured by the chaos, his voice distant but unmistakable. Then, just as she reached for him, everything faded.

When morning came, she would sit by the window, staring out into the vast nothingness, haunted by a life that no longer existed.

No matter how much she told herself to move on, she could not shake the feeling that something was missing. That she did not belong here.

She tried to distract herself. She read books, took long walks, even attempted to learn a new craft. But the solitude only made her mind wander.

What if it had all been real? The war, the interstellar civilization, the man she had once fought beside.

What if she had simply been ripped away from it, discarded into a world that was no longer hers?

One evening, as she stood by the edge of a stream, watching the reflection of the sky ripple against the water, she whispered his name.

"Mors Jericho."

The sound of it sent a strange ache through her chest. She knew he had existed.

She remembered everything, the battles they fought, the arguments, the fleeting moments of understanding, of something more.

And yet, she had no proof. No records. No traces of the universe she had once called home.

She clenched her fists. Could memories lie? Could her mind fabricate an entire existence so vividly, so painfully real?

She wanted answers.

One day, she took a trip to the city, something she rarely did. She needed information, but she could not search blindly.

Instead, she focused on what little she had left. Xavier Angelus. He had been her final target.

Perhaps, if she traced his history, she could find something, anything, to link her past to the present.

She spent hours combing through public records, yet there was nothing extraordinary about his existence.

Xavier Angelus had been a businessman, involved in politics, but not a prince. Not a ruler of an interstellar empire.

There were no records of Sinalta, no mention of Atlantis, no historical accounts of the Andromeda wars.

It was as if none of it had ever existed.

Defeated, she returned to her secluded cabin, feeling more lost than ever. She wanted to believe she had not imagined it all, but what choice did she have?

As the days passed, she began to notice something unsettling. She was being watched.

It started subtly. A flicker of movement in the trees, a faint rustling at night. Then, she found footprints near the edge of her property, ones that did not belong to her.

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She had spent years in the assassin’s trade. She knew when she was being hunted. She remained still, patient, waiting for them to make a move. And one night, they did.

She was sitting on the porch, moonlight casting a dim glow over the clearing when she sensed it, the presence of another.

Her instincts, long dulled by months of isolation, sharpened once more. Then, the voice came. Low, controlled, edged with familiarity. "Agent 22."

She froze.

Slowly, she turned her head.

A figure stood at the treeline, clad in dark combat gear, face hidden in the shadows. But the stance, the way he held himself, it sent an old, long-forgotten tension crawling up her spine.

Athena said nothing, waiting.

The figure took a step forward, then another. The moment he emerged into the moonlight, her breath caught.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Mors Jericho.

Or so she thought.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she did not move, did not react beyond the tightening of her grip on the chair’s armrest.

He looked exactly as she remembered, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, every inch the soldier he had always been.

But there was something different in his gaze. Something unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, his lips parted, and he said the words that shattered the fragile reality she had built for herself. "You shouldn’t be here."

Her blood ran cold.

She had spent months, years, convincing herself that the life she had once known was nothing but a dream, that she had somehow fabricated an entire universe in her mind.

But now, standing before her, was proof that it had been real. He was real.

Athena felt her pulse quicken, her body coiling with a tension she hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity.

"Then tell me," she said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "Where should I be?"

Mors Jericho’s expression did not waver. "Not here."

The weight of his words settled heavily between them.

Athena narrowed her eyes. "Then why are you here?"

For the first time, he hesitated.

Then, finally, he said, "Because you’re not supposed to remember."

The world tilted.

Athena’s fingers curled into fists. "What do you mean?"

But Mors Jericho did not answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device, barely larger than his palm. It pulsed with a faint blue glow.

A memory suppressor. She knew what it was. Knew what it meant. Her entire body went rigid. He was here to erase her memories.

Her life in Andromeda, her time in Sinalta, the war, the battles, him. They wanted her to forget. Panic surged through her veins, but beneath it was something far stronger.

Rage.

She had fought, bled, and lost too much to be cast aside like this. And she would not allow them to take everything from her again.

Not without a fight.