The house you lived in was in the middle of nowhere, swallowed by ancient woods that whispered secrets at night. On the side where the living room was, the wall was nothing but glass, opening up to a waterfall spilling into a silver-blue pool, sky stretched endlessly above.

It felt like a dream, sometimes. The kind of life people wrote songs about but never really touched. The house cost more than anything else in the whole state; it was yours and Rafe’s fortress, your kingdom of marble, glass, and blood.

Rafe leaned against the table in the living room, shirtless, joggers hanging low on his hips. Faint scars and bruises marred his skin, each one telling a story you both knew by heart. He stared out at the falling water, coffee steaming in his hand, phone buzzing on the table beside him.

You wore nothing except his white shirt, the fabric hanging loose with a few buttons undone, and a sliver of black underwear. Your bare feet padded across cold stone until you reached the kitchen. From there, you had a perfect view of him. He didn’t look at you, but you felt his gaze the second you moved.

You poured yourself a glass of water, eyes on him the whole time. Then his phone lit up again, and he answered, voice low and calm, even when speaking of violence.

When the call ended, he stretched lazily, pushing off the table, muscles flexing. “Work’s calling,” he murmured, glancing at you. And that was all it took—two words to rip you out of the illusion of peace.

Minutes later, you were in the car, the forest blurring into green streaks around you. The leather seat was warm against your bare thighs. You fidgeted with a knife in your hand, absent-mindedly spinning it in your fingers, the blade catching stray rays of sun that broke through the trees. Over the years, you’d gotten good with it—better than good. It felt like an extension of your own body now.

That was the twist in your almost-normal life. You and Rafe killed to afford it all. Or maybe it wasn’t really about the money anymore. Maybe you liked the pulse of adrenaline in your veins, the raw power, the way you both moved like you were made for this.

At the start, it hadn’t been together. Just two strangers, hunting different prey in the same city. But then your paths crossed, and you saw something in him that matched what burned in you: hunger. And after that, it was inevitable.

Now, the world knew your names, whispered them like a prayer or a curse: the lovers who killed. The ones nobody could catch. You were both a myth and a nightmare, living in a glass-walled paradise, surrounded by beauty, hiding monsters behind your smiles.