CHAPTER 1.
The Strange Life of Greta Holt
A dark bedroom.
Through the door suddenly pushed open, a man and woman stumble in, clinging to each other.
Their clothes are already disheveled, and they grope at each other as if they can’t bear to be apart.
Bang.
The man shuts the door with his elbow, as though even that moment is a waste of time.
Only dim moonlight fills the room.
In the darkness, they can feel only each other’s breathing and the warmth of skin against skin.
Overwhelmed by the moment, the man pulls the woman closer and pushes her onto the bed.
Percy yanks off his tie in a nervous, impatient motion.
The fabric constricting his throat feels suffocating—though nothing should restrain him anymore.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Nothing.
His superior officer—someone he once thought completely out of reach—is lying before him.
Who would have imagined this day could ever come?
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”
His voice comes out lower than usual, thick with desire.
“I don’t care what name you go by anymore.”
He undoes her buttons one by one and buries his face against her skin.
“Just stay with me. As long as you’re by my side… that’s enough.”
He kisses her again, whispering desperately:
“Don’t leave me.
Never again.”
Kitty let out a sigh.
She had asked to be introduced to a quiet, gentle man, but somehow she ended up with an eccentric.
Her first impression of Tommy wasn’t actually bad.
Plain looks, but well dressed.
His voice was even and calm, and he spoke at a comfortable pace.
(If only she could get rid of those thick horn-rimmed glasses…)
His name was Tommy. Tommy Graham, or something like that.
After their first meeting, he asked her on a date.
Kitty agreed.
He said he knew “a really great place.”
He insisted it would be impressive.
And yet…
Kitty stood in front of a war memorial museum displaying the achievements of decorated generals, staring in dismay.
For their first date, Tommy brought her to a war memorial museum.
Who does that?
A museum? A concert hall? Sure.
But a war memorial?
While Kitty looked ready to suffocate, Tommy enthusiastically began explaining the exhibits.
“General James Sinclair—an incredible hero! His achievements were—”
Kitty fought the urge to yawn.
She only wanted to figure out how to end the date early.
No romantic couples were in sight.
This man had terrible instincts.
Especially bringing her here, of all places.
Tommy kept talking about war history, hoping to impress her.
But Kitty already knew more than he ever could.
Because she had lived it.
Because she had flown those missions herself.
Because she once had another name.
The “Red Countess.”
The legendary fighter pilot—
Greta Holt.
She remembered the final landing vividly.
Her bright red fighter plane gliding down first, three others trailing behind.
The color red—once inappropriate for soldiers—became the symbol of victory.
Citizens began wearing red hats, red coats, red bags, in confidence of winning the war.
Even if they exaggerated her influence, no one could deny her fame.
Everyone knew the Red Countess.
During the final mission, while she was returning to base, the enemy nation surrendered.
The war was over.
Soldiers were cheering everywhere—finally free, finally alive.
Greta climbed out of her plane, removed her goggles, and ran a hand through her pale hair.
She encouraged her subordinates one by one.
“Good work, Gwen. Bailey…”
The last pilot to step down was tall, with dark hair and striking golden eyes.
“…Percy Collins.”
“Captain.”
Greta patted his back.
If appearance alone decided heroes, he would’ve taken first place.
“Thank you for letting me come back alive again today.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re here because you’re a skilled pilot.”
They walked back to the base together, talking casually.
Then suddenly—
“Captain!!”
Troops swarmed toward her, cheering.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s all thanks to you!”
“What, did the enemy surrender or something?”
They had.
The war was over.
Swept away by the excitement, Greta grabbed Percy and laughed.
“Percy, the war is over!”
“Looks like it.”
They hugged tightly—everyone was hugging someone, anyone.
Overwhelmed by relief and adrenaline, they kissed.
It wasn’t passionate or romantic—just the raw emotion of survival spilling out.
A war correspondent nearby captured the moment with a flash.
Greta didn’t even realize a camera was there.
They separated quickly and returned to the base, believing all would be well.
She never imagined that one fleeting kiss…
would change her life.
