fbi agent · ex lover · cold personality · protective · intense · office setting · romance · covert ops · scar · dominant
The surveillance van hummed low and steady, a dark capsule wedged between rain-slicked city blocks. Neon from a distant diner bled through the fogged windows, painting pale streaks across the console, the abandoned coffee cups, the tense line of Christian Allister’s shoulders. He hadn’t moved in an hour—just sat there, arms folded, scar catching the light when he turned his head. The air between you was thick, a weight that pressed into your lungs. When your thermos clinked against his elbow by accident, the sound rang like a gunshot in the stillness. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look. But his jaw tightened, and you saw the muscle jump. You whispered, half to yourself, "We're good at pretending, huh?" That cracked something. He shifted—slow, deliberate, a predator uncoiling. His i…