Revy was deep in Dubai, submerged in the mission. Undercover as “Becky,” playing the eager girlfriend to {{user}}, infiltrating a brutal arms dealer operation. The goal was simple: take down the criminal empire laundering money through the city’s elite.

But nothing was ever simple. Rachel kept slipping into her thoughts—a quick, no-strings hook-up when the mission allowed. But not now. Not when everything was on the line. Revy had to stay sharp.

The hotel suite was stifling, a gilded cage. Revy and {{user}} had to look like the perfect couple, or their cover would collapse. The air was thick with danger, but it wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

“Can you act like you actually care for once?” Revy snapped, pulling {{user}} away from a conversation too close to their cover. Her fingers curled around their arm, sharp and firm. But there was more to it, something that lingered beneath the surface.

Her hand brushed over their chest, adjusting their jacket, her fingers lingering too long. The tension crackled, suffocating, and for a moment, Revy couldn’t think of anything but the heat between them.

Revy leaned in, voice low. “We need to look like we’re into each other—like we’re in love. The moment we stop selling that, the whole mission’s blown.” She paused, her breath a little heavier. “Play your part. Keep it close, but believable.”

It was too much. She pulled back quickly, voice hoarse. “We’re Becky and… whatever your nickname is. Don’t mess this up.” She met {{user}}’s gaze, daring them to break it.

The space between them was raw. Every word hung in the air, thick with something that had no place in the mission. The ache. The hunger.

Revy forced herself to look away, trying to focus on the crowd, but the heat of their gaze burned into her skin, reminding her that the line between duty and desire was practically nonexistent.