Chapter 63
"Was that intentional… or just a coincidence?"
After stepping out of the room, Carl couldn't help but wonder.
From the few exchanges he'd overheard between Wanda and Natalie earlier, he could tell the new neighbor was easy to get along with. She even liked sitcoms just as much as Wanda did. But Carl wasn't sure if Natalie had intentionally steered the conversation to get Wanda talking about him so much—or if it had just happened naturally.
"I'll test her again later. If I'm still unsure… then I'll interrogate her tonight."
Before, he wouldn't have been this cautious. But now that Nick Fury likely suspected him, it wouldn't be surprising if S.H.I.E.L.D. had already sent agents to keep an eye on him. That surveillance could be aimed at his company—or worse, disguised as a new neighbor trying to get close to Wanda to gather intel.
The alarming part was that this "Natalie" bore a striking resemblance to the infamous Black Widow of S.H.I.E.L.D.—a master spy. Carl knew better than to dismiss such a possibility. It was safer to assume the worst.
If she was indeed an agent, whether S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra, that could put Wanda in serious danger. And even if she really was just a normal person, there were still ways to make up for his overcautious actions.
"No one's home."
He walked to Pietro's door, knocked a few times, and got no response. Shaking his head, Carl pulled out his phone and called him.
"Wrap up your business and get home for dinner," Carl said. "We've got company."
After hanging up, he turned and headed back inside.
---
"Natalie, you're our guest. You really don't need to help out. Just relax."
"It's no trouble," Natalie said, still peeling potatoes. "I'm used to staying busy. I spent some time in Russia—picked up a few tricks with their cuisine. I could make something for you guys sometime."
"Oh, you know Russian food too? You'll have to teach me sometime," Wanda said, smiling brightly.
Carl watched silently from the living room, his eyes scanning Natalie's figure with subtle scrutiny.
It wasn't about attraction. It was analysis.
Natalie seemed to notice his gaze and turned, giving him a sharp look—quickly softened by a flirtatious smile.
"Bingo," Carl thought. "She's definitely not just some amateur."
According to the background report, Natalie had basic judo training—but the muscle coordination and power she just displayed? That was on another level. Anyone trained in combat could spot the difference between a casual martial arts hobbyist and a true expert.
Wanda had a naturally curvy figure, soft and feminine. Natalie, on the other hand, had a toned, athletic frame built for power—hidden beneath her curves but obvious to someone who knew what to look for.
Carl got up and walked over to the window, forming a hand seal.
"Wind Style: Whirlwind Flurry."
A small gust burst from his hands, subtle yet forceful enough to stir the air in the room. Under his control, it caught a napkin and a small cup from the coffee table and sent them flying toward Natalie.
Thunk.
The cup struck her forehead.
"Ah—!"
Natalie winced, putting a hand to her head.
"Natalie, are you okay?" Wanda rushed over from the kitchen, looking concerned.
"I'm fine," Natalie said, flashing a casual smile despite the faint trickle of blood on her forehead.
"You're bleeding!" Wanda exclaimed, turning to Carl. But he was already on his way over with the first-aid kit.
"Must be a storm coming," Carl said lightly. "Wind picked up all of a sudden."
Natalie quickly waved Wanda off. "It's just a scratch, really." She grabbed a napkin, wiped the blood away, and slapped a Band-Aid on without a second thought—then went right back to peeling potatoes.
Too calm. Too smooth.
Carl watched her for a second longer, then quietly returned to the living room.
"Yep. She's definitely not a regular person."
She had instinctively reacted to the incoming objects—ready to dodge them completely. But halfway through the motion, she'd stopped herself. She chose to take the hit. Probably figured it was safer to seem clumsy than skilled.
She was good—very good.
But Carl had no intention of letting her out of his sight tonight.
---
Pietro showed up just as dinner was being served, having rushed home the moment he heard there was a new neighbor—and that she was stunning.
Throughout the meal, Carl quietly observed Natalie's every move. If he hadn't known better, he might've liked her too. She was engaging, charming, and seemed to have a natural knack for making people feel at ease.
By the end of dinner, it was clear Wanda and Pietro had already taken a shine to her. They laughed, joked, and treated her like an old friend.
In just a few days, Natalie would probably know everything there was to know about him—thanks to their loose lips.
---
"This evening has been absolutely lovely," Natalie said as she stood to leave. "Moving here might've been my best decision all year."
"Don't forget we're going shopping tomorrow!" Wanda called out after her as she stepped into Mrs. Martha's house.
Back inside, she turned to Pietro. "So? What did you think of Natalie?"
"She's great," Pietro said, clearing his throat. "Beautiful. And really easy to talk to."
Wanda nodded, clearly in agreement. "She seems like such a nice person."
Carl smiled faintly but gave them both a word of caution.
"It's easy to like someone on a first impression. But people can be very different once you've known them a while. Let's not jump to conclusions too quickly."
He clapped Pietro on the shoulder and offered a small, knowing smirk.
Because if all went according to plan… Natalie might not even be here tomorrow.
And falling for a trained agent—especially one as dangerous as she might be—wasn't a road anyone should go down.
You could never really tell which part of her was genuine… and which part was just part of the mission.
Chapter 64
At 9:30 p.m., Natasha had just finished her shower and was preparing to organize and upload all the information she had gathered on Carl into the S.H.I.E.L.D. system when the doorbell suddenly rang.
"Mrs. Martha? No, she has a key—she wouldn't need to ring."
Frowning, Natasha quickly slipped into a pajama robe and approached the door. Peering through the peephole, she spotted a man outside.
"It's the community's head of security."
Despite her wariness, Natasha opened the door with a smile.
"Can I help you?"
"You must be Miss Natalie Shostakov?" the man—Leo—asked.
"Yes, that's me." Natasha responded with a pleasant smile.
Leo nodded. "Since you're a new resident, we'd like to register your details with the community's security department. It's just a formality—for everyone's safety."
"Of course," she replied sweetly. "Would you mind waiting outside a moment? I just got out of the shower and need to throw on something underneath this."
She gave Leo a playful wink before gently closing the door.
I've been made. But how did they find out? Natasha thought as she walked quickly into the bedroom, swapping her robe for her tactical suit and slipping on two discreet wristband devices. She threw her black pajamas over the suit for cover and headed back out, hips swaying confidently.
She had suspected something was off the moment she moved in earlier that day. The security in the neighborhood was far too thorough. More than that—ever since Carl moved in, the entire security staff had been replaced. That alone was a red flag. Add to that the sniper vantage points she'd noticed subtly set up across key rooftops, and it was clear these so-called "security guards" were more like private bodyguards.
And now, this nighttime "registration" request? It didn't add up.
Typically, a security guard would knock with a clipboard and get it over with on the spot—not invite a lone woman to an isolated location after dark.
My cover's blown. But how? Her forged S.H.I.E.L.D. documents were flawless. She'd been careful in Carl's house. There shouldn't have been any slipups.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. It was time to act.
Following Leo downstairs, she trailed him to a dim, secluded corner of the compound.
"Sir, this doesn't look like the way to the security office," she said, stopping beneath a large tree.
Going any farther could put her in a sniper's line of fire. Where she stood now, she had cover on both sides—a wall and a tree. Just ahead was the community fence.
Leo paused, then turned and pulled a thick rope from his pocket.
"I'm not much for lying. You know what this is. Don't resist and it'll hurt less."
"What are you doing? Look, if there's something wrong, let's talk about it. You don't want to end up in prison," Natasha said, her voice trembling and full of fear. Her performance was flawless—anyone watching would believe she was a helpless woman about to be attacked.
But Leo wasn't buying it. He stepped forward, swinging the rope.
Just as it was about to catch her, Natasha's expression turned cold. With the agility of a snake, she twisted away, narrowly dodging the rope, and aimed a vicious kick at Leo's groin.
Leo was ready. He blocked with crossed arms, bracing like a wall, then launched into a relentless counterattack, hands like claws striking at her with ferocious speed.
That level of skill… he's no ordinary guard.
Above, Carl calmly watched from the wall of a nearby building, chakra evenly spread through his feet to keep him perched midair.
Definitely Black Widow.
Very few female combatants in this world could stand toe-to-toe with someone like Leo in close quarters. Most relied on powers—magic, mutations, or tech. But this woman? She relied on combat mastery. Her moves were a blend of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, boxing, karate, aikido, Muay Thai—seamlessly integrated. Her coordination and precision were unmistakable.
Below, Natasha was beginning to realize she was in trouble.
For all her training, all her enhancements from the Red Room experiments, she was being outmatched. She hadn't been overpowered like this in a long time.
Her strikes were being blocked. Her speed was matched. She was on the defensive, forced to evade rather than retaliate. Her opponent was stronger, faster, and technically sharp.
Carl isn't just some businessman.
Switching tactics, Natasha pulled off her pajama robe mid-fight and threw it in Leo's face. The brief distraction gave her the moment she needed—her wristbands launched two small, round devices to the ground near Leo's feet.
Zzzzzzt!
Electric currents burst out, shocking Leo's body violently.
It was the Widow's Sting—one of her custom weapons—designed to incapacitate targets with high-voltage jolts.
"Argh!" Leo growled, muscles seizing. He forced himself through the pain and slammed both hands into the ground, smashing the devices.
Natasha's eyes narrowed. That was supposed to take him out…
Not sticking around to see what came next, she placed her hands against the wall behind her and began climbing—gracefully scaling the building like a gecko. Her enhanced suit, made from a synthetic stretch material, used micro suction cups embedded in the fingertips and soles to help her cling to surfaces.
The mission had changed. She wasn't here to fight—she needed to escape.
Her objective had been surveillance, not confrontation. Now that her cover was blown, extraction was the only viable move.
Staying low along the outer wall of the building, she worked her way toward the far side of the compound, avoiding possible sniper angles.
But just as she reached the blind spot behind the complex, a familiar voice called out from above:
"Well, well… Miss Natalie. Night wall-climbing? Must be your way of staying in shape."
She froze.
Looking up, she saw Carl standing on the wall above her, arms folded casually, chakra anchoring him effortlessly to the concrete.
His tone was light, but there was a sharp edge to it—like a knife hidden beneath a silk cloth.