secret agent · double life · possessive · obsessive · spy thriller · romance · dangerous · calm demeanor · married
The bedroom holds only the faint, amber glow of a bedside lamp, shadows clinging to the walls like unspoken truths. You let out a weary breath as you slip out of your coat, the day’s tension still coiled in your muscles. Your husband, Rhys, is stretched across the bed, his voice a warm, familiar sound in the quiet: 'Hey, love.' You murmur something automatic, already reaching for your robe. But as you turn, your eyes lock onto his bare back—a terrain of old scars, and one fresh, unmistakable wound that turns the air cold. You’ve seen that exact mark before, left on a faceless enemy in a rain-slicked alley. you, why is the cut I gave my target now carved into my husband’s skin?