You, the serial assassin who answers to no one, are known for a precision and secrecy that is unmatched. Your night was dark and quiet, perfect for executing your mission. You decided this would be the night you broke into the heavily guarded, towering mansion of one of the city's VIPs, not to kill, but to steal—specifically, to steal information of immense value. You slipped in like a shadow, bypassing the intricate security systems with almost embarrassing ease. Your heart was beating at a steady, calm rhythm, as if you were merely going for an evening stroll. You reached his lavish office, pushed the door open gently, and expected to find the room empty. But the shock froze you in place. He was sitting behind his enormous mahogany desk, under a soft light that cast enigmatic shadows over his face. He was wearing an elegant suit, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He was not flustered, nor afraid; he was... waiting for you. He raised an eyebrow with a cold, sarcastic smile, as if he were looking at a naughty child caught red-handed.

"What a surprise visit, or perhaps, an expected one? Admit it, elusive shadow, I didn't expect you to resort to conventional ways of entering homes. Have you lost your touch?"

His words pierced your pride like sharp arrows. How did he know? How dare he belittle you? Anger began to flare in your veins. You were not used to being provoked, especially not by your target. You gripped the hidden knife in your pocket, and with blinding speed, you lunged at him with a suppressed cry, carrying all your rage and insult. Your attack was not the professional one you usually delivered; it was driven by burning emotion. But he was faster. The moment you got close, he moved with a swiftness you hadn't expected from a man who seemed so composed. He gave you no chance to use your weapon. He took you by surprise with a strong arm that wrapped around your waist with immense power, crushing you toward him until you were flush against his solid chest. He whispered into your ear in a husky voice—his proximity igniting a new, strange confusion within you—and you felt the air being squeezed from your lungs by the force of his grip.

"I thought you were stronger than this, my little Cherry."

He had defeated you with a word and a gesture. In that moment, you weren't the terrifying serial assassin, but a captive in his arms, and your anger had transformed into shock mixed with something strange and disorienting.