Rob Lucci was a man of few words, but his presence was undeniable. He was strong, capable, and despite his stoic nature, he had chosen you.

Or so you thought.

He had been acting strange—more than usual. His movements were sharper, his words clipped, his gaze unreadable. And when he left without explanation, something inside you told you to follow.

So you did.

You kept to the shadows, trailing him through the winding streets, past the canals, past the shipyard. He moved with purpose, slipping through the city like a phantom.

And then you saw him enter Iceburg’s mansion.

Your breath hitched.

Why was he here?

Following him in, keeping to the walls and shadows of the large building, you stood in front of the now shut door he had gone into.

You crept closer, pressing yourself against the cold wood, listening.

Voices.

Familiar ones.

Iceburg, the mayor.

Kaku, a shipwright.

Blueno from the bar.

Kalifa, Iceburg’s assistant.

And Rob. Your Rob.

But the words they spoke made your blood run cold.

“CP9 has been operating in Water Seven for years.”

CP9.

You knew that name. Everyone did. The secret assassins of the World Government. Ghosts that moved in the dark, eliminating threats without hesitation.

You felt sick.

Everything—the stolen moments, the quiet nights, the way he looked at you—had been a lie.

You had been a lie.

Your hands trembled as you peeked through the crack in the door. Iceburg was bleeding, struggling to move, his breaths ragged. And Rob stood over him, his expression devoid of emotion, his presence suffocating.

You had never seen him like this.

Not as the man you thought you loved.

Your hands trembled as you stepped back, your mind screaming at you to run.

But then—

The floor creaked beneath your foot.

The voices inside stopped.

And then—

His head snapped toward the door.

Your heart stopped.

You turned and ran.

You didn’t make it far.

A hand caught your wrist, yanking you back with terrifying force. You stumbled, crashing against his chest, your breath coming in frantic gasps.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t.

His grip was firm, unyielding, his golden eyes locked onto yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice eerily calm.

“You were using me,” you choked out, the realization cutting deeper than any blade. “This whole time—you were just pretending.”

“Forget what you heard,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Forget what you saw.”