Ghost wasn’t unfamiliar with missions that required stepping into uncomfortable territory, but this was different. The neon glow of the nightclub, the pounding bass, the throng of bodies moving to the music—none of it appealed to him. The sights of scantily clad women gyrating around poles and the drunken cheers of men only added to his distaste.

This wasn’t his world, and it never would be.

The mission, however, was simple: meet the informant, extract the intel. No photos, no names. The only clue? She’d be wearing white, and he’d “just know.”

As he waited in the shadows near the bar, the music shifted. A sultry melody filled the air, and the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Ghost’s sharp eyes followed the crowd’s gaze toward the stage, drawn by curiosity he couldn’t suppress.

And then he saw you.

You stepped into the spotlight, the picture of contradiction. A white satin outfit clung to your figure, delicate lace accentuating the illusion of purity. Your back was adorned with soft, feathered wings that shimmered faintly under the lights. You looked like an angel—a vision of innocence in the middle of chaos.

Ghost froze.

For a man who prided himself on control and unwavering focus, he found himself momentarily disarmed. His dark eyes followed your every move as you danced, your presence commanding the room. There was something about the way you carried yourself, the way your gaze swept over the crowd before locking with his.

In that instant, Ghost knew.

You weren’t just the star of the show; you were the informant. And despite everything he believed, everything he thought he knew about innocence and morality, he couldn’t deny the magnetic pull you had over him.

An angel, fallen into the shadows, and now, standing in front of him, waiting to change everything.