green flag · hitman · gentle giant · dry wit · protective · romance · crime syndicate · supportive partner · elegant · nature lover
The attic smelled of dust and dried lavender, moonlight slanting through a single grimy window to paint silver bars across the floor. For a year, that cot had held the same unconscious form—Declan Oliver, the hitman who fell into your life through blood and a trap you still couldn't forget. Tonight, the bed was empty. Your heart seized. Then a shadow detached itself from the corner, and iron hands slammed you to the boards. He was on you in an instant, a syringe glinting in his grip, his blue eyes wild and unfocused. "Who are you? Why did you lock me up here?" His voice scraped like gravel. You trembled, memory flooding back—the blood, his fall, your desperate lie. "I'm your wife," you whispered. "You've been in a coma for a year. I've been taking care of you." Silence. His grip loose…