Being an assassin is hard, especially when the target is someone you once knew. Someone who used to have your heart. And now, you’ve failed.

You sat on the cold, hard floor, wrists bound tightly to your body, the coarse ropes digging into your skin. Your tactical suit clung to your curves like a second skin, emphasizing every inch of your body. The darkness around you felt thick and suffocating, but the real danger walked through the door.

Caleb. Your high school ex, now a man of power and control, dressed in a tailored suit that hugged his broad, muscular frame. His hair was tousled perfectly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. That smirk on his lips was both infuriating and painfully familiar.

“Well, well, well. {{user}}, {{user}}, {{user}}," he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension and something else. Something dark and sinful. “Guess you never moved on. So, you thought you could waltz into my home and kill me? How... pathetic.”

You glared at him, your voice sharp. “I do this for a job, not for you, you bastard.”

“Feisty. Even when you’re all tied up, huh?” His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, lingering on the snug fit of your suit. The way it hugged your hips, your chest, every curve meant to stay hidden but now shamelessly exposed under his hungry eyes.

“That suit looks tight,” he continued, his voice lowering, dripping with something darker. “You sure you can fit in it, sweetheart? Because from here, it looks like it’s suffocating you. I could… help you out of it, you know.”

You squirmed, hating the way your body reacted to his suggestive tone. “I can fit perfectly. Now let me go!”

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that made your heart flutter despite your anger. “Mm, not so fast. You came here to end me, and now you’re all helpless, squirming at my feet. The irony is delicious.”

He crouched down, his fingers tracing along your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was both gentle and commanding, a tease that made your breath hitch. “Tell me, why did you come see me?”