The day the avalanche swallowed me, my own brother, Norris Burgess, cut the safety rope at my waist—to save the fake princess, Sadie Burgess, who had stolen my place. Snow rose past my face. My body heat bled away. With frozen, trembling lips, I called out to Norris. “Norris! Don’t leave me here… If you do, my adoptive father’s men will flatten this mountain!” I’d been back with my birth family for a year, quiet and obedient, never once mentioning my adoptive parents overseas. They had no idea—the couple who raised me commanded one of the most feared mercenary units in the world. My adoptive father was a legendary sniper. My adoptive mother, a demolition expert. And I was their only princess. But my brother just sneered, pulling the rope away. "Stop lying!" "You're nothing but a hillbilly with a big mouth. I brought you skiing despite the embarrassment you cause, and now you dare compete with Sadie? Don't you know how fragile she is ?" With that, he turned and walked away, holding the impostor's hand. "If your adoptive parents are so impressive, let them send a helicopter for you!" As the light above me disappeared, I pressed the red button on my satellite locator with the last of my strength. What Norris didn't know was this: Once that signal went out, this entire mountain would become his grave.
Norris's figure vanished completely into the blizzard. Only the howling wind remained, mocking my foolishness. I struggled to open my eyes. Beside me stood only Norris's personal assistant, Azrael Benton. He looked at me, his gaze complicated. A flicker of hope ignited within me—the instinct of fighting to survive. "Save... save me..." Azrael's hand extended halfway, hovered in the air, then withdrew. "Miss Delilah Burgess, I'm sorry." "Mr. Burgess said Miss Burgess is in shock. Everyone must escort her down the mountain now." "Mr. Burgess also said the avalanche has stopped, you're not buried deep, and with your rural upbringing, a little snow won't kill you. He wants you to... cool off and think things over." After speaking, Azrael guiltily averted his eyes. If he had just reached out and pulled, I could have climbed out. But he didn't. He chose to obey that fool of a CEO and left me in this ice tomb. The sound of footsteps faded—that distinct crunching on snow. I was officially discarded. I strained to bend my fingers, reaching toward the hard object hidden inside my innermost layer of clothing. My adoptive mother had slipped it to me before I returned to the Burgess family. She said, "Delilah, this is your lifeline. Don't use it unless you have absolutely no other choice." Because once used, it meant the end of peaceful life. Back then, I laughed and said, "With my birth parents and brother, why would I ever need this?" Now, thinking back, it felt like the biggest joke in the world. Using the last of my strength, I slammed the red button. Beep. The tiny indicator blinked twice, weak and stubborn, then went dark for good. The satellite signal had been successfully sent. Signal sent. I didn’t know if I could last until they crossed the border and reached me. This place was a no-man’s land, sealed off by an avalanche. Then the phone pressed to my chest lit up. A unique vibration pattern. It was a message in the "Happy Mercenary Family" group chat. Even with the weak signal, texts still pushed through on this dedicated channel. Damian sent a picture. He was cleaning a heavy sniper rifle, its barrel pitch-black and gleaming coldly. The caption was simple. [Delilah, got your coordinates.] [Perfect timing—we're on a mission near the border, only 120 miles from you.] [Scenic spot. Perfect for digging holes.] I tried to smile, but my lips wouldn't move. Tried to type back, but my fingers were too numb to tap the screen.
Consciousness began to blur. Drifting, I seemed to return to those years abroad—chaotic yet pulsing with life. At five, after being trafficked, I ended up on the border. It was Hawk who dug me out from a pile of bodies. He scowled at how filthy I was, yet gave me half a ration bar. My adoptive father, Hawk, was a man of few words and one of the world's top snipers. He taught me how to assemble a Glock in under three seconds. "Your gun is your partner. More reliable than people," he said. My adoptive mother, Shera, was an elegant madwoman. She showed me how to make liquid explosives from supermarket detergent. "If anyone bullies you, blow them to hell. No need to explain," she smiled. And then there was Damian. My sworn brother, who also crawled out from a grave of corpses. He always saved the choicest cut for me, smiling as he broke the bones of anyone who made me cry. That life—walking the knife's edge yet wrapped in fierce loyalty—was one I walked away from myself. I'd been chasing the myth of "blood ties." Foolishly thinking sharing DNA would give me a real family. So I put aside the mantle of "Red Fox" and slipped into the role of the timid, obedient long-lost heiress of the Burgess family. Once, when I was burning up with fever, Norris passed me a glass of water. Tears welled in my eyes, mistaking that small gesture for the warmth of home. Life soon delivered a stinging wake-up call. I later learned that water was Sadie's leftover—too hot for her liking, so she'd tossed it my way. A jolt of raw pain tore me from the memory. Not the warmth of rescue, but the sharp, metallic bite of something hard striking bone. Crunch. A rescue worker's shovel had slammed into my thigh. A choked gasp escaped me as awareness flickered back. I was dragged roughly from the snowbank—no stretcher, no emergency care in sight. The rescuer looked down at me, his expression pure disdain. "Still breathing after all that? Lucky you." "You just cost us half an hour. Mr. Burgess is furious." He didn't bother with basic bandages, just tossed me onto a supply sled like a sack. The ride back to camp was a jarring, bone-rattling haul. Up ahead, the medical tent glowed warm against the cold, the hum of a space heater drifting out. Two guards hauled me inside. Warm air washed over me—but not for my sake. Sadie sat wrapped in a cashmere blanket in the only padded chair, surrounded by anxious nurses and a doctor. "Does it hurt, Miss Burgess?" "Bring the medicated cream, now!" I forced my eyes open. All Sadie had was a faint scrape on one finger—not even a drop of blood. Yet the camp's only heater was aimed right at her hand. Meanwhile, I lay soaked and shivering, the gash on my thigh raw and exposed, curled on the muddy ground in a corner. Invisible. Azrael passed by, paused at the sight of me, then tossed a grimy, mud-stained towel in my direction. "Clean yourself up. Don't stain the rug." "Mr. Burgess is with Miss Burgess. Stay out of sight and keep quiet." I clenched my jaw, staring at that soiled towel. And just like that, the last flicker of light inside me went out.
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