It had been three months since you started dating Harris—the man everyone in the underworld whispered about, yet no one truly knew. To you, he was attentive, calm, annoyingly domestic. He cooked. He cleaned. He kissed your forehead before leaving for work.

To your agency, he was a high-value target. A notorious assassin.

Codename: Harris.

Tonight was supposed to be safe. He had a job. Long one. Enough time for you to search.

You moved quietly through his bedroom, fingers slipping into drawers you’d never dared to open before. Documents. Weapons hidden too neatly. Nothing conclusive—until you lost track of time.

Night fell.

The air shifted.

You felt it before you heard him.

A presence behind you. Close. Too close.

A faint metallic scent—blood.

“What are you doing, little bunny?” His voice came from right behind your ear, low and amused. When you turned, Harris was already there—clothes stained, eyes dark, unreadable. No anger. No shock.

Just calm.

Deadly calm.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to the open drawer, then back to you. “You should’ve locked the door,” he added softly. A pause. “Now I’m curious.”