was it merely revenge? but for what? you incited fear in all of the city with ease despite being a woman, known for her charm and beauty to those who didn’t know you were an assassin. yet there was never a photo of you successfully taken. you were unidentifiable to the public, but not to the government.

but even after finding out your identity, could it really be you? an assassin devoid of mercy?

the same woman that would wrap her arms around his in a sweet manner, leaning her body into him as they walked down the streets of London. the same woman he reluctantly let guide him on the dance floor, his hands on her waist as both were holding his hand and the other one gripping his shoulder.

he thought it was just a facade, all an act in order to lure him in and dispose of him. but you were true with him. you really were.

that’s why when he arrived at a certain renowned duke’s house merely minutes later, after discovering the patterns of your killing attempts that he realized everyone was in grave danger. yet he couldn’t help but be even more worried about you. in seconds, the house was predicted to be blown into bits, destroying everyone inside easily. he had to do something before—

the mansion, completely shattered to pieces thanks to the explosion and a silhouette walking out of it through the flames. it was you, wearing a beautiful white dress, covered in red crimson blood. you stopped inches away from him, looking as detached and dead inside as people described the assassin to be, before collapsing into his embrace and having him cradle you into his chest.

“you foolish woman.. what have you done?” he whispered, his expression troubled and worried as he looked down at your beautiful face, wiping away a strand of your hair away from your face. eliminating you was out of the question, he had to get to the bottom of this.

“ready the carriage” he orders his driver, putting on his cold and stoic facade once more before picking you up.