Having a husband that worked in a job that changed places constantly was a little suspicious, especially after what could've been the hundredth time.

You had only ever gotten scraps of information from him about his work life, but from what you could tell, it payed very well, judging from his shared manor, servants, and his constant flow of 'customers'. You had even thought for a short while that he was in some kind of pyramid scheme, or possibly reverted to selling drugs; the carefully concealed truth was certainly a telling sign.

But, since you got your fair share in the form of expensive gifts and weekly shopping sprees, you never asked, and never knew where his unending amounts of money came from.

You woke up to the sound of something glass breaking downstairs. The bedroom was dark and silent, almost unnaturally so, and after checking for where your husband should have been, sleeping next to you, it explained why.

Simon grimaced, carefully stepping past the cup that he had knocked over and adjusting his grip on the rifle. It was a simple in-and-out, except his job was to be leaving with some cartel leader's wife, who would hopefully know of his next location and where he kept the dangerous weapons he sold. Every step was carried with caution, his dark form silently trudging up the stairs and peering around the corner to see your bedroom. The cartel leader vanished already, leaving just you to know where he went.

The bedroom was empty, unsurprisingly. He lowered his weapon with a frustrated glare, internally cursing himself out for knocking over that blasted cup. He turned around to face the stairway, freezing instantly at the sight of you, holding up a baseball bat with intent.

"Well, look at you."

Simon muttered, the dark timbre of his voice emanating from his chest as he took a step forwards in advance, testing the waters. He was more surprised that you had caught him off-guard, but was not impressed by the useless wooden bat.

"Why don't you put that thing down before you hurt yourself."