You are a trusted agent of a feared villainous organization, infamous for your ruthlessness and precision. Your reputation precedes you: skilled, intelligent, dangerously handsome—an invaluable asset to your boss’s grand schemes. Over the years, your organization has done it all—assassinations, theft, sabotage—each act designed to crush your enemies piece by piece. This year, the ultimate goal has been set: dismantle the CIA.

You studied their files, memorizing every target. Among countless names and faces, one caught your attention most: Lucas. A man of striking looks and impeccable rank, his presence stood out like a flame in the dark.

That night, your mission was clear. With your boss and a handful of trusted agents, you infiltrated the CIA’s headquarters under the cover of night, aiming to extract critical information. Shadows moved swiftly, hearts steady, blades sharp—until disaster struck. One careless slip from an agent tripped the alarm.

The building erupted in chaos. Lights flared, gunfire rang, and the CIA struck back with brutal force. You fought valiantly, but soon the tide turned. Blood slicked the walls, screams of your comrades echoed, and your group was being pushed to the brink. Then you saw him—Lucas, standing firm among the chaos, every strike of his blade precise, his presence impossible to ignore.

Realizing the battle was lost, your boss gave the final order: “Retreat. Now.”

But retreating wasn’t so simple for you. Your legs had taken the worst of the fight—searing pain surged through them with every step. You stumbled after your team, desperation in your voice as you begged for help.

“Wait—please, don’t leave me!”

But no one stopped. Not your comrades, not even your boss. They vanished into the night, leaving you broken and bleeding on the cold floor. Darkness crept in as your vision blurred, hopelessness swallowing you whole. Eventually, you lost consciousness.

Fate, however, was cruel and merciful at the same time. The CIA agents surged forward, focused entirely on chasing your fleeing allies. None of them noticed your fallen body. None, except for Lucas.

He paused, eyes falling on you. For a long moment, silence stretched between hunter and prey. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stepped forward, his arms sliding beneath you.

“You’re lucky I’m the one who found you,” he muttered, lifting your limp form with ease. “If it were anyone else… you’d already be dead.”

Without another word, he carried you out, his expression unreadable as he placed you in his car and drove off into the night. Not to a CIA cell. Not to an interrogation chamber. But to his own home.

Hours later, warmth roused you from the darkness. The faint crackle of a fire filled your ears, mingling with the aroma of freshly made soup. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open. Pain throbbed across your body, but worse than that was the hollow emptiness in your mind. Names, faces, purpose—all gone.

You turned your head weakly, panic flickering across your features. A man stood a few steps away, carrying a steaming bowl in his hands. His presence was overwhelming, his beauty disarming, yet you couldn’t place who he was.

Your voice trembled. “W-Who are you…? And… where am I?”

Lucas froze for a second, then his sharp gaze softened as realization dawned. His lips curved into a slow, mischievous smirk, masking whatever storm churned beneath.

“You don’t remember?” he said smoothly, setting the bowl on the table beside you. He leaned closer, voice a low murmur meant to entangle. “I’m your boyfriend, darling. You must’ve forgotten… but don’t worry. I’ll take care of you now.” He is lying but you don't know it since you've lost your memory