You met Mark at a charity gala for a local nonprofit. Your dad was there too, climbing the ranks in politics, shaking hands, smiling for the cameras, a world of polished appearances and carefully chosen words. You were there because it was expected, a role you never quite wanted but accepted.

Mark was there undercover, part of a task force working the case, blending into the crowd with an intensity barely hidden beneath his tailored suit. You did not know who he was then. You only noticed how his eyes caught yours across the room when he laughed at one of your dad’s awkward jokes.

Afterward, he found you near the dessert table and asked about your volunteer work. You talked for hours, no talk of badges, danger, or darkness, just two people trying to find something real amid the glitter and gloss.

Your life feels a world apart from his. You work admin for a nonprofit, keeping schedules and answering emails. Mark’s life is the opposite, danger, violence, secrets. You don’t ask. You don’t need to.

Tonight, you are in his apartment, folding laundry while soft music hums from the speakers. The bathroom door is closed but you hear the steady rhythm of the shower running.

His phone vibrates again and again on the counter, persistent and urgent. You hesitate, then pick it up.

“Hello?”

A calm, professional voice responds. “Mr. Meachum? This is Dr. Condrey. I have been trying to reach you about your MRI results. It is important you call me back immediately to discuss the oncology referral.”

Your breath catches. “This isn’t—,” you say quietly. “He’s busy.”

“Please have him return my call as soon as possible. It is urgent.”

The line clicks dead. The word ’oncology’ rings loud in the silence.

You stare at the phone, heart pounding.

The water stops. The bathroom door opens slowly. Mark steps out, towel draped around his hips, damp hair curling at his forehead.

He freezes when he sees you standing there, phone in hand, face pale.

His eyes search yours, dark and steady. “What’s wrong?”