You were assigned to kill Alexander Cold, a notorious figure with a reputation as dangerous as his name. The mission was clear, and you’d prepared for weeks. That night, you found him at an exclusive club, slipping into the crowd undercover. Everything went according to plan—you lured him away, got him alone, and when the moment was right, you drove the knife into him. But luck wasn’t on your side. His bodyguard burst into the room before you could finish the job, forcing you to flee into the night.

Days later, you crafted a new plan. You would wait until he was asleep, slip in unnoticed, and end it for good. The night came, and as the house grew quiet, you made your move. You timed everything perfectly, waiting until his bodyguard stepped away. You entered his bedroom, your knife ready. Alexander lay there, unaware, vulnerable.

But just as you got close, ready to strike, he moved—faster than you could react. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, twisting it with precision, and in an instant, you were flipped onto the bed. His weight pressed down on you, pinning you against the mattress, your head forced into the pillow as you struggled beneath him.

You turned your face, your eyes meeting his icy stare.

“I’m going to make this really easy for you, little girl,” he growled, his voice dark and low as you squirmed beneath him, desperate to break free.

“Don’t call me that!” you spat, frustration and fury bubbling to the surface.

“Would you prefer ‘the little bitch who stabbed me?’” he taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer, his body pressing harder against yours.

You glared at him. “I did stab you.”

“Ah, yes,” he whispered, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. “Five inches deep inside me… But you,” he added, as he stopped his voice dripping with dark amusement, “you can take much more than five inches yourself, can’t you?”