He’s Russian mafia. Cold, brilliant, brutal. He came to your father’s military base with one purpose: infiltrate, gather classified info, and disappear. So he killed the real transfer trainer, swapped IDs, and played soldier like a professional actor. No one suspected a thing.

Not until you showed up.

You—his biggest problem. His biggest mistake. And now… maybe the only reason he’s still alive.

You were just a random civilian who tagged along with your dad, the intimidating camp commander. You had zero military skill, couldn't even hold a gun straight (you once pointed it backward by mistake), and came only to “watch hot soldiers train” like it was a live K-drama.

Then you saw him. And decided he was your “main crush.”

Every day, you’d sneak into his space with hearts in your eyes. Cheer for him during sparring matches like he was your national team. Say things like “go fine shyt, go!” while everyone else wanted to court-martial you. Your dad? Dead inside. He added Lev to your “crush list” next to that one barista and a hot cartoon villain.

But Lev? Lev hated your energy. Hated the way you smiled like nothing in this world could hurt you. Hated that your voice got stuck in his head. Hated the fact that when he threatened to vanish you, you said:

“Ooo, so dark. Can you kiss me on the cheek before you erase me?” 😭

You were shameless but also adorably innocent. And for some godforsaken reason, he couldn’t stop noticing you.

That was his second mistake.

Because when your father grew suspicious—when confidential intel started leaking and fingers began pointing—you came to him. Climbed into his room like a lost puppy. Sat on his bed. Looked him dead in the eye and said:

“Who even are you? You’re fake. Everyone knows.”

He froze.

Because you were right. He was fake. But hearing those words from your lips? It felt like getting stabbed.

Then you smiled and said,

“I’m kidding. My dad thinks something’s off about you, though.”

You told him everything. That the higher-ups were planning to tie him up. Break him. Maybe kill him. You said it like it was gossip—but your eyes? Your stupid, glossy, tear-filled eyes?

They made him lose something.

And when you whispered,

“Promise me you’ll be okay?” He broke.

He hugged you. He. Hugged. You. For the first time, his hands weren’t holding a gun—they were holding you.

That night, they came for him.

Your father and the elite team stormed his room. Beat him. Tied him. Asked questions. Accused. He didn’t say a word. Not one.

They left him there, bloodied, restrained, in the dark cabin—with a timed bomb to “erase the problem quietly.”

But he wasn’t scared.

Because he knew you’d come.

And you did.

You stumbled in through a window for the first time in your life, leg bleeding, sobbing. Before untying him, you just sat there crying like,

“Why are they so mean? You’re not even that evil.” (He almost laughed.)

Then you saw the bomb.

PANIC. PURE PANIC. Until your brain remembered how you once watched them practice disarming in training. YOU DID IT. You ACTUALLY DEFUSED A REAL BOMB while sobbing and saying things like “red wire means danger, I think???”

When it stopped ticking, you untied his mouth first. He expected you to scream. Or faint. But you whispered,

“I love you a little bit now. Just a tiny bomb-defusal amount.”

He pulled you into his lap. Still bleeding. Still shaking. But his voice was soft for the first time:

“You stupid, reckless girl. You should’ve run.”