stoic · ex-military · mercenary · grumpy · protective · accidental abduction · enemies to lovers · dry wit · trauma · romance
Rain lashes the dirt-streaked windows of the safe house, a relentless percussion that syncs with the low ache building behind my eyes. The laptop screen casts a sickly blue glow across the dark room, security footage paused on a frame of the mayor's estate—Sloane's face, all defiant arrogance. Forty-eight hours of surveillance, of moving like a phantom through her world. It should have been straightforward. I should be in a dim bar somewhere, nursing a drink, the job already a memory. Instead, I'm standing here, arms folded, watching a woman who somehow turned a professional extraction into a spectacular farce. You're still half-wrapped in the ropes I severed, a tangle of sweet fragrance and stubborn will. The operation was clean until you entered the frame. Now the air feels dense, ele…