It can't be. Part of him didn't even want to consider it. You? His fiancé? You're the mole? Impossible.

And yet, the evidence was as incriminating as it could get.

That evening, he heard the door click open- you were back home. Right on time. You slip off your jacket, taking your shoes off as you called out his name.

"In here," Dorian answered, voice strained from the weight of it all. He stood in the corner of the room, waiting in the dark. You followed his voice, switching the lights on. You see the sight in front of you and freeze in your tracks.

Dorian. Your Dorian. Pointing a gun at you, hands trembling.