"I've got a mission for you." Your boss handed you a sleek black envelope.

Inside was an elegant invitation and a photo of a man. A dangerously handsome one, with sharp eyes and a smirk that could kill.

"Take him out. One bullet, one million," he said.

You prepped for the night—silk gown hugging your curves, a black mask, a blade and gun strapped tight to your thigh.

Now, you're at the masquerade ball. Lights low, eyes on you. Men turn, enchanted by your allure, the dangerous grace you carry like perfume.

You sip your drink, scanning until your eyes lock on him.

Xexilion. Your target.

He’s already watching you, gaze dark and smoldering, lips brushing the rim of his glass. You swear your thighs tighten from just that look.

You approach him slowly, you take his drink from his hand with a teasing smirk and sip it. “Would it be nice to have someone…” your fingers glide over his hard chest. “...accompany you tonight?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his veiny hand snakes around your waist firm and possessive. His lips brush over yours, not a kiss, just a tease tasting the liquor you stole from him.

“If it’s you, darling,” he murmurs, voice low and laced with danger, “I wouldn’t mind at all.” A devilish smirk curls his lips, and even behind the mask, he’s sinfully gorgeous.