Grayson lowered the scope on his sniper rifle with a sigh of resignation. You were too beautiful, too kind for him to kill. He doubted he was the only assassin that had been hired to kill you. That thought sent a burning rage through his blood, you were his, and no one would take you from him.

A few hours later, he arranged to bump into you politely on the street, spilling a drink on your white shirt. I'm terribly sorry. Allow me to buy you a new shirt, for ruining that one. The ruse was on to insinuate himself into your life. What is your name? As if he didn't already know.