My Secret Wife Is A Top Hacker

The icy water crushed against her chest.

Zero's eyes snapped open. Her lungs burned, screaming for oxygen. She broke the surface of the massive bathtub, water cascading down her face as she gasped, her chest heaving violently. The sudden influx of air felt like swallowed glass tearing down her throat.

Before she could even process the cold, a violent spike of pain drove through her temples. It was a physical assault. Memories that did not belong to her-memories of a pathetic, lovesick boy named Zero Vance-slammed into her brain. She gripped the marble edge of the tub, her knuckles turning bone-white as her stomach pitched. Her gaze dropped to the floor tiles. An empty, amber prescription bottle lay discarded next to a spilled glass of water, the label smeared. A pathetic, hesitant attempt at an overdose before she had slipped into the freezing water.

She was Z. The world's most lethal hacker. She had died. Yet here she was, breathing, shivering, trapped in the body of a notorious, wealthy failure.

Zero pushed herself up. The soaked silk shirt clung to her skin, heavy and freezing. As she stood, a sharp, suffocating pressure banded around her ribs. She looked down. Beneath the sheer, wet fabric, a thick chest binder was wrapped tightly around her torso, flattening her breasts.

A girl. The "trashy young master" of the Vance family was a girl hiding in plain sight.

She stepped out of the tub, her bare feet slapping against the pristine white marble, and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Zero stared at the reflection and her stomach physically recoiled. Rainbow-colored hair hung in wet, pathetic clumps. Thick, cheap waterproof eyeliner was smeared across her face in dark, ugly streaks, making her look like a bruised raccoon.

Bile rose in her throat. She turned the silver faucet, plunging her hands into the freezing stream, and scrubbed her face brutally. She rubbed until her skin turned raw and red, washing away the heavy black sludge.

She opened the vanity drawer. Her eyes locked onto a pair of sharp grooming scissors. She grabbed them. The cold metal grounded her.

Zero grabbed a fistful of the heavy, neon hair. She didn't hesitate.

Snip.

A thick chunk of rainbow hair hit the floor. She kept cutting, the metallic sound echoing in the massive bathroom. She sheared it all off until nothing remained but a sharp, jagged crop of silver-blonde hair.

A frantic knock hammered against the bathroom door.

"Young Master!" Reginald, the head butler, shouted, his voice trembling with panic. "Please, don't do anything stupid over Maverick Thorne again!"

Zero ignored the noise. She grabbed a thick towel and roughly dried her new, short hair. She looked in the mirror again. Without the makeup and the ridiculous hair, the face staring back was striking. Androgynous. Lethal. The jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and her dark eyes held the cold, dead emptiness of a predator.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Reginald stood there, his fist raised to knock again. The words died in his throat. He stared at the wet, silver hair scattered across the floor, and then his eyes met Zero's.

His heart stuttered. The boy standing before him radiated a freezing, suffocating pressure. This wasn't the crying, hysterical teenager he knew.

"A-Are you alright, Young Master?" Reginald stammered, taking a physical step back.

Zero walked right past him, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

"Prepare a clean black suit for me," she ordered. Her voice was low, raspy, and entirely stripped of emotion.

Reginald froze. The absolute authority in that single command pinned his feet to the floor. He could only nod dumbly.

Zero stepped into the walk-in closet. The sheer volume of sequins, leopard print, and tight leather pants assaulted her vision. A headache pulsed behind her eyes.

She grabbed armfuls of the flashy garbage and threw them onto the hardwood floor.

Reginald hurried in, holding a pressed black shirt. "Young Master, those were custom-made for you to wear for Maverick-"

Zero slowly turned her head. She didn't speak. She just looked at him. The sheer, physical threat in her dark eyes made Reginald snap his mouth shut. He swallowed hard, his palms sweating.

She took the black shirt and pants, changing quickly. The dark fabric hugged her lean frame, instantly shifting her aura into something untouchable and dangerous.

She walked to the desk and picked up the phone. It was encased in a bedazzled pink shell. She tapped the screen. The wallpaper was a blurry, zoomed-in photo of Maverick Thorne.

A wave of physiological disgust washed over her. Her thumb moved rapidly. She opened the gallery. Thousands of photos of Maverick. She hit 'Select All' and 'Delete'.

She opened the messaging app. Hundreds of unread texts sent to him. Good morning. Good night. I love you.

She blocked his number. Deleted the contact.

The bedroom door opened. Alistair, the private doctor, walked in with a medical bag, a sneer playing on his lips. He was here to check on the "suicide attempt."

Alistair snapped on a pair of latex gloves, his face a mask of clinical, sterile apathy. "Young Master Vance, this is a standard post-incident check-up procedure. Please cooperate," Alistair said, his voice entirely devoid of bedside manner as he reached a gloved hand out to impersonally check Zero's pupillary response.

Before his fingers could make contact, Zero's hand shot out. She clamped her fingers around his wrist. She squeezed.

Alistair let out a sharp cry of pain. The bones in his wrist ground together under her iron grip.

"Do not touch me," Zero said, her voice a deadly whisper.

She shoved his arm away. Alistair stumbled back, clutching his wrist, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He didn't say another word. He grabbed his bag and practically ran out of the room.

Zero sat down on the leather sofa, crossing her long legs. She looked at the trembling butler.

"I need a top-tier computer," Zero said. "Today."

Reginald wrung his hands. "Sir... the Master froze your accounts."

Zero's jaw tightened. A broke hacker was a dead hacker. She didn't yell. She didn't throw a tantrum.

"Prepare dinner," she said quietly.

The unnatural calm terrified Reginald more than any screaming fit ever had.

Downstairs in the dining room, Zero picked up her knife and fork. She cut her steak with flawless, aristocratic precision. Reginald stood in the corner, watching her perfect table manners, his mind spinning in absolute confusion.

When she finished, she wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. She stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. The glittering skyline of New York stretched out before her.

Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. She was alive. And she was going to take everything back.

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.

Zero stepped into the classroom, her textbook dangling lazily from one hand. The chaotic noise of thirty students instantly flatlined.

She ignored the wide eyes tracking her every move. She walked straight to the back row, toward the window. Her assigned seat.

Her desk-mate, Cody Boggs, a massive guy built like a linebacker, had his dirty sneakers propped up on Zero's chair, blocking her path.

Cody looked her up and down, a nasty sneer twisting his face. "Wow, the freak got a makeover. Move it, faggot. Don't get your cheap cologne on my shoes."

The entire class held their breath. A few kids in the front row snickered, waiting for Zero to stand in the aisle with her head bowed, just like she always did.

Zero didn't speak. She stood perfectly still, her dark eyes fixed on Cody. A slow, chilling smile crept onto her lips.

Before Cody could open his mouth to hurl another insult, Zero moved.

Her hand shot out like a striking snake. Her fingers clamped around Cody's thick ankle like a steel vise.

Cody's eyes widened. He tried to yank his leg back, but Zero's grip was immovable. A sharp pain shot up his shin as her fingers dug into his bone.

Zero's eyes hardened. She twisted her wrist and yanked upward with a vicious, calculated burst of kinetic force, using his own weight against him.

Cody lost his balance completely. He let out a terrified scream as his massive two-hundred-pound frame flipped backward over the desk.

CRASH.

He hit the floor with a sickening thud, his chair clattering away. The impact rattled the windows.

The girls in the front row shrieked, covering their mouths. Nobody could comprehend the physical strength required to flip a guy that size with one hand.

Cody was seeing stars. He gasped for air, his face turning purple with rage. He scrambled to get up, spitting curses. "I'm gonna kill you-"

Zero stepped forward. She raised her foot and brought her polished black shoe down hard on the center of Cody's chest, pinning him flat against the linoleum.

The air rushed out of Cody's lungs in a violent wheeze. The pressure on his sternum was agonizing. He stared up at Zero, and for the first time, raw terror flickered in his eyes.

Mr. Peterson, the history teacher, walked into the classroom, his lesson plan tucked under his arm. He stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping at the violent scene in the back row. His binder slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor.

Zero heard the noise. She slowly turned her head to look at the teacher. She didn't lift her foot off Cody's chest. She just offered a lazy shrug.

"Mr. Peterson," Zero said, her voice smooth and entirely unbothered. "Cody tripped."

Mr. Peterson looked at Cody's agonizing face, his mind struggling to process the blatant violence. His authoritative instincts weakly flared. "Vance! Boggs!" Mr. Peterson stammered, pointing a shaking finger. "Both of you, my office, immediately after class!" But as he met Zero's dark, warning gaze, the teacher swallowed hard. The sheer, suffocating killing intent in those eyes made him instinctively backtrack. "...Just to understand the situation," he added weakly, fear paralyzing the rest of his vocal cords.

Zero casually removed her foot. She hooked her toe under the fallen chair, flipped it upright, and sat down. She opened her book as if she hadn't just assaulted someone.

Cody scrambled away, clutching his bruised chest. He practically crawled back to his seat, keeping his head down, terrified to even breathe in her direction.

Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang. Zero popped her earbuds in, shoved her hands in her pockets, and walked out of the classroom, heading for the cafeteria.

As she turned the corner on the second floor, a sickeningly sweet wave of expensive perfume hit her nose.

Three girls blocked the hallway. In the center stood Kenzie Locke, the head cheerleader and Maverick Thorne's most obsessive fan. She crossed her arms, glaring at Zero with pure venom.

One of Kenzie's minions sneered loudly. "Put on a suit and think you're not trash anymore? A freak is always a freak."

Zero stopped. She pulled out one earbud. Her eyes swept over the three girls, radiating pure, unfiltered annoyance at the delay.

Kenzie stepped right into Zero's personal space. She raised a hand, her long, red-painted acrylic nail pointing directly at Zero's nose. "Stay away from Maverick, you disgusting-"

Zero's hand blurred. She grabbed Kenzie's extended finger and bent it backward with a brutal, sickening snap.

Kenzie let out a blood-curdling shriek. Her knees gave out from the blinding pain, forcing her to drop into a humiliating, half-kneeling position on the floor just to stop her finger from breaking completely.

The two minions gasped, stepping forward to help.

Zero slowly turned her head. She shot them a look so lethal, so devoid of human empathy, that both girls froze. Their legs turned to jelly. They couldn't take a single step.

Zero leaned down, her face inches from Kenzie's ear.

"Point at me again," Zero whispered, her voice a dark, demonic rasp, "and I will break your hand."