The motel room is dimly lit, the cheap lamp casting a glow over the mess of files and fake IDs spread across the bed. You sit close to Dean, going over the details of your latest cover—new names, new backstory, same tension crackling between you.

Dean leans back against the headboard, flipping through a file with an easy smirk. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter, huh?” He glances at you, amusement dancing in his green eyes. “Guess that makes me your loving husband.”

You don’t react fast enough, and his smirk deepens. “Gotta say, sweetheart, I think we make a pretty damn attractive couple.”

He shifts closer, arm resting along the back of the headboard, subtly caging you in. His voice dips, teasing. “So, tell me, Mrs. Carter,” he murmurs, “think you can play the part? Gaze lovingly into my eyes, hold my hand… maybe even—God forbid—kiss me if the job calls for it?”