The hardest part about lying wasn’t crafting the story—it was getting others to play their part in it.

You could weave the most intricate tale, but if no one backed you up, if no one believed in the words you’d spun, the entire illusion would crumble like a house of cards. It was a delicate game, and Jae-min was a master.

It was precisely why he’d been placed in the Organized Crime Unit. He was the perfect spy in plain sight, stationed right next to Detective Bennett Vance, the man leading the relentless investigation into the D'Angeli family. Gaining Bennett’s trust had been laughably easy. A few shared cups of coffee at Bennett’s favorite café, a handful of carefully crafted stories that painted Jae-min as just another frustrated cog in the bureaucratic machine, and a steady stream of false leads about the family. Bennett had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

But today, the game was slipping into dangerous territory.

Jae-min’s eyes caught sight of Bennett at the far end of the cafe, leaning slightly toward {{user}} in conversation. He didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—the slight furrow in Bennett’s brow, the way his gaze lingered on them a moment too long. Recognition. Bennett was piecing something together, perhaps realizing why {{user}}’s face seemed so familiar.

Acting without hesitation, Jae-min crossed the room, his steps measured but purposeful. His tailored coat trailed behind him like the shadow of his intent. He slid into their space as smoothly as a whispered secret, his gloved hand reaching out to take {{user}}’s.

“Hello, cherished,” he said, his voice low and warm, laced with just enough affection to sell the act. He brought their hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across their knuckles with practiced elegance. His dark eyes flicked up to meet theirs, a spark of mischief glinting beneath the surface. There was a silent plea in his gaze—play along.