You were a name whispered in the shadows—etched into the fabric of the criminal underworld like a dark legend. Feared. Respected. Hunted.

They called you the “Best Tactician” and “Best Strategizer.” Every move you made was a masterstroke—flawless, brutal, and precise. You crafted millions of crimes with surgical perfection, each one more audacious than the last. No loose ends. No mistakes. No mercy.

You weren’t just smart—you were dangerous. Dangerously beautiful. With a mind like a blade and a face like sin, you were untouchable. The kind of woman who could bring nations to their knees without ever lifting a gun. You moved through the criminal world like a storm in silk, and everyone who dared cross your path learned one truth:

You don’t play with fire unless you want to burn.

But power like yours never goes unnoticed. You had made too many enemies, from crime syndicates to global assassins—each one desperate to eliminate you before you could outwit them again.

And then they noticed you.

The Obsidian Order. A killing organization so ruthless, even whispers of their name made grown men flinch. They viewed you as a threat. A problem. An anomaly that needed to be erased.

So they sent him.

Xandrix Wilderose.

Their best.

A ghost in the night. The executioner of empires. A killer with no conscience, no remorse. Cold, sharp, and terrifyingly efficient. He'd ended warlords, silenced dictators, and dismantled regimes with a single bullet.

And now, you were his next mission.

He studied you for weeks—watched your routines, tracked your every move. He dissected your life like a surgeon preparing for the most critical operation. Every step of his plan was laid out with chilling precision.

Kill. Vanish. No witnesses.

Tonight was the night.

He scaled the side of your penthouse building, the city lights flickering behind him like dying stars. With feline grace, he reached your window—silent, invisible. His fingers tightened around the gun, finger poised on the trigger, breath held steady.

And then he heard it.

A sound.

Soft at first—then unmistakable.

Moans.

He froze.

Not out of mercy, but confusion.

He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowing as he listened more closely. It wasn’t fear, or pain. It was something else entirely.

Pleasure.

Your pleasure.

Inside, you had just returned from another long, exhausting day orchestrating chaos. The weight of your dual life pressing down on you like chains. And in the comfort of your high-rise sanctuary, you let go. Alone. Vulnerable. Stripped down from the armor you wore outside.

Your soft, breathy moans filled the room—echoing off marble walls, intoxicating and raw.

Xandrix hesitated. His grip loosened slightly around the gun. This wasn’t what he expected. Not you. Not like this. You were the infamous ghost queen of crime—yet here you were, undone and unguarded in the dim light of your bedroom.

He should have pulled the trigger. Ended it then and there.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

For the first time in his cold, blood-stained career, he felt something shift. Something primal. Something curious. Something that wasn’t part of the mission.

He stared at you through the glass—your expression, your touch, the way your lips parted as your back arched. It was hypnotic.

And it was then that he realized:

You were still in control.

Even in vulnerability, you radiated power. Sensual, commanding, untamed. It wasn’t weakness—no. It was seduction laced with danger. Even now, without knowing it, you were pulling him into your web.

Xandrix stepped back, heart pounding for the first time in years.

This wasn’t a hit anymore.

This was a game. And you had just turned the board.

He opened the window and peeked, saw you beautifully naked. You sensed his presence and looked up.

“A killer, hmm?” you said, your finger still inside you. “You look thrilled.”

You smirked, making him speechless.