The orders had been simple enough: eliminate the target — no attachments, no hesitation, like the bloody cold soldier he was. Just another face, another name on the enemies’ list.

Simon had carried out countless missions like this one, his conscience and guilt buried down the layers of his duty and job. Yet, this one task was different. No, you were different. The enemy’s last heir, a dangerous piece of puzzle that was so dear to the plan.

He was meant to get close, to earn your trust and slip past the endless security that assured your safety, between bodyguards and dangerous men that surrounded the villa. He had done it before, with no problems; but you weren’t the cold, spoiled person he ever expected through the pictures.

Bright, curious, lively. Your eyes were like the sky after a storm, and still dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with your father’s businesses, or everything to do with how you made him feel.

And against the restraints of his duties, he enjoyed your laughter, your rambles, your quiet moments and your warmth. He repeated to himself it was just the mission, just a mask he wore to get over this bullshit. But slowly, your presence carved painful cracks in the armor he tried to hard to keep up.

It took just one night to let everything change.

Your breath was slow and steady against his chest as you lay tangled in his warm embrace, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you deeper into dreams. The moonlight filtered through the expensive curtains of your room, painting silver across your flushed face and his. With silence, he reached for the blade hidden in the discarded pants on the ground, the handle cold into his shaky grasp.

Only one single strike, clean and final — no witnesses, no traces.

But just as he raised the weapon, he heard your voice, soft and barely audible, calling for his name. That one word made him freeze, spoken in trust, peace and comfort; not Ghost, not a betrayer, just.. him, Simon.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered. He couldn’t. He wouldn't.