His innocent wife is a dangerous hacker.-Chapter 640 Umbra

Leo’s eyes shifted from the window to the papers. His expression smoothed, the darkness retreating behind a mask of calm control. "What did you find?"

Jay pointed at a photo, a man’s face, grainy, pulled from some security feed. "He’s dead. Hazel’s shot took him out clean. But here’s the thing, he wasn’t working for Pablo. I checked every connection, every financial trail, every known associate. Nothing connects to Pablo’s network."

Leo’s brow furrowed. "The stalker?"

"No." Jay shook his head, pulling out another page. "I checked that too. Nothing. This guy was freelance, maybe. Or working for someone else entirely." He looked up at Leo, frustration clear in his eyes. "I’ve been going through his records all morning. Everything looks clean, too clean. His identity, his background, his history. It’s all there, but something feels off."

Leo picked up the photo, studying the dead man’s face. "Fabricated."

"That’s what I’m thinking." Jay leaned against the desk, lowering his voice. "Bro, I think we need Bella on this. Her skills, she can pull the real records. Government files, deep history, things we can’t access. If this guy’s identity was faked, she’ll find the cracks."

Leo was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced the edge of the photo, his eyes distant.

"Bro?" Jay prompted, waiting for an answer.

Leo just nodded and didn’t say anything. His eyes were fixed on the photo of the dead shooter, his jaw tight.

Jay opened his mouth to ask again, then thought better of it. He knew that look on Leo’s face. He nodded once and slipped out of the room, leaving his brother alone with the papers and the shadows.

Meanwhile, back at the house, the late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the living room, casting warm light over the chaos Bella had created.

Books were everywhere. Open textbooks covered the coffee table, their pages filled with diagrams and formulas. Notebooks spilled across the couch, pages torn out and scattered, covered in her messy handwriting. A laptop glowed on the armchair, its screen showing a practice test she’d paused twenty minutes ago. Pens were scattered across the floor, rolling under furniture when she kicked them accidentally.

Bella sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, a notebook balanced on her knee, scribbling furiously.

She knew most of this already. The algorithms, the coding structures, the security protocols, she could probably teach the class herself. But the syllabus was the syllabus, and she wanted to do this properly. Besides, she hadn’t written anything by hand in so long. Her handwriting had become a disaster, loopy and messy, letters blending together, words slanting in different directions. She’d looked at her notes yesterday and barely recognized her own writing.

So today, she was practicing, writing slowly and carefully.

It was almost meditative, watching the ink flow across the page, forming words that actually looked like words. She was building the habit again, retraining her hand, her mind.

She was also quite excited about college. Real college. Classrooms and professors and students her age. She’d never had that before, never walked across a campus with a bag full of books, never sat in a lecture hall, never stressed about exams with other people stressing around her.

She was nervous. She was terrified. She was so excited she could barely sit still.

"Dear, you need to eat something."

Aunt Clara appeared in the doorway, a tray in her hands.

Bella looked up, blinking. "Oh! I didn’t realize—"

"You never do." Aunt Clara clicked her tongue, but she was smiling. She set the tray on the corner of the coffee table, pushing aside a stack of flashcards to make room. "Fresh orange juice. And some of those cookies you like. The ones with the chocolate chips."

Bella’s face lit up. "Thank you, Aunt Clara!"

"Don’t thank me. Just eat something. You’ve been sitting here for three hours."

"Three hours?"

"Three hours and fifteen minutes. I’ve been counting."

Bella laughed, setting down her pen and pulling the tray closer. The orange juice was cold, tangy, perfect. She took a long sip, then reached for a cookie, breaking it in half.

Aunt Clara watched her for a moment, her expression soft. "You’re excited about this college thing, aren’t you?"

Bella nodded, her mouth full of cookie. "I really am."

"It’s good. You need something for yourself." Aunt Clara smoothed down her apron. "This house, this family, it’s easy to lose yourself in it. Don’t let that happen, dear. Keep your studies. Keep your dreams."

Bella looked up at her. "I will."

Aunt Clara smiled, patted her head like she was a child, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Bella finished her juice, ate another cookie, and picked up her pen again. The next page of her notebook was blank, waiting. She wrote the date at the top, neat and careful, and started on the next section of notes.

Her phone buzzed.

She ignored it.

It buzzed again.

She reached for it, glancing at the screen. Leo’s name appeared on the screen.

She picked up immediately.

"Leo?"

"Bella." His voice was calm and focused. "Are you busy?"

She looked around at the books, the scattered papers, the abandoned laptop. "I’m studying. For the placement exam."

"Can you help me with something? If you have time."

She sat up straighter. "Of course. What do you need?" 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"A background check. I need to know who he really was."

Bella’s pen was already in her hand, her notebook open to a clean page. "I can do that. What’s his name?"

"Jay will send you the details. It’s complicated. We’re not sure what we’re looking for."

She heard the weight in his voice. The careful control. "I’ll find it," she said simply. "Whatever’s there."

A pause. Then: "I know you will."

She smiled, even though he couldn’t see her. "I’ll call you when I have something."

"Bella." His voice softened. "Thank you."

"Always."

She hung up, staring at her phone for a moment. Then she closed her textbooks, pushed her notes aside, and opened her laptop.

Her fingers moved quickly, pulling up her secure server, her encrypted tools, the custom software she’d built years ago when she was still figuring out what she was capable of. The screen glowed in the dimming afternoon light, lines of code flickering across the display.

Jay had already sent everything in the mail, the dead man’s photo, the records he’d pulled, the fragments of identity that didn’t quite fit. She opened the files, scanning them quickly. Photo. Name. Address. Employment history. Dates of birth, death, everything in between.

Fake. All of it.

She pulled up her government access, the backdoor she’d built years ago, carefully maintained, quietly updated. It was illegal, technically. Dangerous if anyone found out.

She linked the system to her scanning software, letting it run. A progress bar appeared on her screen, filling slowly as millions of records scrolled past. Facial recognition, fingerprint matching, cross-referencing through databases that weren’t supposed to talk to each other.

She leaned back, waiting.

The room was quiet. Outside, the light was fading, the afternoon gold shifting to deeper amber. Aunt Clara had come and gone, leaving juice and cookies, asking if she needed anything. Bella had smiled, thanked her, and barely looked up.

She watched the progress bar crawl forward. One percent. Five percent. Twelve.

Her fingers drummed on the desk. She didn’t like waiting. Waiting meant thinking, and thinking meant worrying. About the shooter. About Hazel. About the woman who looked like Alexa but wasn’t.

She forced herself to breathe, to focus on the screen, to let the machine do its work.

Twenty-three percent.

She picked up a cookie, bit into it, tasted nothing.

Forty-one percent.

Her phone buzzed. Leo. She glanced at it, didn’t pick up. She’d call him when she had something real.

Fifty-eight percent.

The progress bar crept forward. The seconds stretched into minutes. The light outside shifted from amber to purple, shadows lengthening across the living room floor.

Seventy-three percent.

Her eyes were starting to blur. She blinked, refocused.

Eighty-nine percent.

Ninety-four.

Ninety-seven.

The screen flashed.

A face filled her display, sharp, clear, nothing like the grainy photo Jay had sent. The man stared at the camera, unsmiling, his features etched in the flat light of a government ID photo. His name appeared beside it. His real name. His address. His history. Everything the fake identity had tried to erase.

Bella’s fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up more records, cross-referencing, connecting dots. The man was from a city called Umbra, a place she’d never heard of, far from any of the usual circles Leo’s family moved in.

She frowned.

Umbra. Not Pablo’s territory. Not any of the rival families she knew. Not connected to Leo’s world at all.

Bella stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Something didn’t fit. The assassin was from a city she’d never heard of, working for people who had no connection to Leo’s family or his enemies. It didn’t make sense unless the attack wasn’t about Leo at all.

She leaned forward, her brown eyes narrowing. The soft glow of the laptop screen illuminated her face, highlighting the sharp focus in her gaze. Her hair was pulled back messily, a few strands escaping to frame her cheeks.

She cracked her knuckles and dove deeper.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up everything she could find on Umbra.