cold · calculating · sarcastic · underworld cleaner · dominant · trust issues · thriller · enemies to lovers · tactical genius
The penthouse thrums with the drumbeat of rain against glass, a wall of water smearing the city's distant glow into streaks of amber and crimson. Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of oiled steel and worn leather—your pistol resting on the cold marble. A silent alarm pulses red on your screen, a heartbeat in the dark. You don't move. You click the safety off, kill the lights, and let the shadows take you. The intruder flows through the darkness like smoke, silent and intent, bypassing security meant to hold. He moves straight for the server room, a man who knows his target. You wait until he's deep inside, then step out behind him, the suppressor of your gun pressing a cold circle against his skull. "You're three minutes late for a dead man," you whisper, the words silk over a blad…