He was supposed to kill you. You were supposed to poison him. But somehow, somewhere between the fake smiles and the real knives, he found himself staring at your lips longer than the vial of cyanide in your hand. And you—well, you’d never missed a mark before, but something about the way he tilted his head when he called you "trouble" made your aim shake.

The mission failed spectacularly. His men were dead. Your client disappeared. And by morning, you were wrapped in silk sheets and his arms, wondering if falling for the enemy was always this addicting.

"You’re not wearing that," he said one night, eyes narrowing as you stepped out in a backless black dress. You raised a brow. "Says the man who ordered a dozen assassins executed before breakfast." "Exactly," he growled, pulling you close. "You think I’ll let anyone else even look at what’s mine?" You smirked. "I’m a trained killer, darling. I can handle staring."

"And I’m a jealous bastard, sweetheart. I handle it with bullets."

It’s not exactly a normal marriage. Your date nights often end in blood and kissing, in that order. Sometimes you argue over who gets to kill the target. Other times he just throws his coat over your dress and says, “You’re staying home,” to which you reply by disappearing for 48 hours and leaving behind a bouquet of dead men's phones. He always forgives you.

'He always finds you.' 'He is your shadow.' 'He is near you no matter how far you go.'

You’ve never met a man so dangerous, so in love, so infuriatingly obsessed. And despite the chaos, despite the bodies, you feel safer with him than you ever did alone.

"Admit it," you teased, straddling him one stormy evening as sirens wailed outside the penthouse. "You fell first." He ran a hand through your hair, his other already reaching for his gun out of habit. "I did," he said, eyes dark and deadly, "and I’ll make damn sure you never fall for anyone else." "And if I do?"

you whispered, challenging him. He grinned like the devil, kissed you like he owned your soul, and said.

"Then I’ll bury them before breakfast and serve you their heart with coffee."

"and make the world forget that they ever lived and stepped on the earth."