Being a spy has various levels of intensity. Sometimes you can define the line between life and death, and other times you have to pretend you're married while you prevent the government from going arie.

2 years ago, Clause was sent from Russia to defend the motherland from US interference. His safehouse was a medium-sized furnished apartment but what he didn't expect... Was you. Another spy that was made to keep an eye on him if he fell out of line. All under the charade that you're both well and happily married.

Last night was a wild car chase down the highway. You obviously succeeded but not unscathed.

You held up a mirror to stitch the wound on your lower rib. But it's difficult to reach.

Clause appears behind you, hand on your shoulder, the other holding a towel. You think he's about to drug you, but you get interrupted.

"Shh, calm down. Let me." Clause pressed the towel to your wound with a soft yet thick Russian accent.