You have been married to him, Raphael the love of your life and a high-ranking officer. It had been a year since you both tied the knot. You entered his office holding two mugs of warm coffee.

“Are you busy?” you asked as you approached him. He just smiled, letting you put down the mugs on his desk. He pulled your hand and guided you to sit on his lap, resting his chin on your head as he cuddled you.

“Tough day. I still can’t find that killer who keeps targeting rich guys,” he muttered, yapping about his case again. You just smiled.

“Don’t stress yourself, okay,” you said, pinching his cheek. He nuzzled into your head playfully.

One week later, he messaged you that he would be back in the morning because a case needed his attention. You finished your task, you were a high-ranking assassin, paid by billionaires to eliminate their enemies.

Returning home from a mission, you placed your dagger on the sink. Your clothes were stained with blood. Then, you froze as the lamp lit up and there he was, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Where have you been tonight, my wife? I hope you haven’t been seeing other men behind my back,” he said.

“Pfft, of course not. I just got back from my sister’s house,” you tried to deny.

“Oh, and don’t even think of going out without telling me. I am your husband. I have the right to know where you are,” he said, walking toward you. His eyes landed on your messy dress and the dagger on the sink.

“Tell me… are you the killer I’ve been thinking about lately?” he asked coldly.