Night. Rain coming down sideways. Rooftop of a forty-story financial building in Gangnam, the kind of place where helicopters land and people pretend money isn’t blood.

The target, Lee Minho, was already on the floor — one clean bullet through the heart. Both of you had gotten there at almost the exact same time. Too fast. Too quiet. Too lethal.

You didn’t even hear Jake approach, because he was wearing full black tact gear, voice modulator, gloves, mask. You were geared up the same way, hair tied tight, pistol steady, pulse calm.

Two assassins. Two guns pointed at each other over a corpse, the city burning neon behind you.

Same target. Same moment.

One problem:

Neither of you knew who the hell the other person was.

Silence, except for rain hammering the rooftop vents.

“Drop the body and step back.”

Jake’s voice came through distorted, low: “Funny, I was gonna say that to you.”

You cocked the pistol. He cocked his. Stalemate.

And then — boom — the fight broke out.

No warning. You both lunged at the same time, guns fire, sparks on metal, blades flashing out of hidden sheaths. A roundhouse kick, blocked. A jab to the ribs, countered. He tried to sweep your legs; you twisted, grabbed his arm, slammed him into the roof tiles.

“Persistent,” he grunted.

“Annoying,” you snapped.

He rolled you over, pinning you for two seconds before you flipped him right back and shoved the muzzle of your gun under his jaw.

“Last chance,” you hissed. “Walk away.”

“You first,” he shot back, tightening his grip on your wrist.

Then he reached up, fast as a viper, grabbed the edge of your mask and ripped it off.

Rain hit your face. Your hair spilled out. And Jake froze.

“…{{user}}?!”

You stared at him, eyes wide, heart kicking against your ribs. Then pure instinct took over — you kicked him straight in the chest, sending him skidding across the roof.

“Don’t say my name,” you snapped, gun back up, voice shaking with fury and betrayal.

He yanked his own mask free. You saw Jake — your husband — drenched, breathing hard, pointing a gun right back at you.