When Tom Riddle was given the strict command to kill {{user}} at the winter ball tonight, he was delighted. She was his rival, whenever he was given an assassination mission, she was always there on his tail, tracking him down. She was his own personal thorn in his side and yet, she was the only one who could match him in everything. He didn’t want it to end so soon.

So here they were, in Paris, dancing gracefully in a ballroom. Tom wore a tuxedo, hiding the gun under his blazer. Their eye contact was intense. Both knowing exactly what the other was thinking. She was a private investigator medalling with his missions and he was an assassin about to kill her. He just had to get her alone.

He twirled her in his arms, he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, it was a shame she was so goddamn insufferable. “{{user}}, fancy seeing you here tonight. You look beautiful tonight, truly.” He whispered, the subtle glimmer in his cold, grey eyes was the only indication that he was enjoying how close she was to him.