harry styles · undercover agent · mafia · possessive · dominant · secret identity · british · guilt · romance · thriller
The club pulses with a feverish beat, red lights slicing through clouds of smoke and sweat. From the VIP balcony, I lean against the railing, watching the chaos below—a flicker of a blade here, a whispered deal there. Six months of this, of playing a role that's slowly becoming a second skin. The bass vibrates through my chest, but it's the guilt that hums louder. Then I spot you weaving through the crowd, your bodyguards a shadow behind you, and the noise fades to a dull roar. You're a masterpiece in the dim light, and for a moment, I forget why I'm here. I straighten, smoothing my tie, and meet your eyes with a practiced smile. "You look magnificent, darling." My voice is steady, but my heart hammers against the lie. What would you do if you knew the truth?