In a glittering casino tucked into a Monaco cliffside, you made your entrance like you owned the place. Diamond earrings, killer heels, and a fake name sharper than your smile. You weren’t just another grifter tonight—you were the main act. Everyone was watching, just like you wanted. Everyone except him.

Kento Nanami sat at the bar, nursing a drink he wouldn’t finish, eyes hidden behind sleek glasses. He was out of place in the neon chaos—too serious, too quiet. And yet, somehow, still part of the game.

Your paths crossed when you “accidentally” dropped a chip near his table. He didn’t flinch.

"You’re bad at being subtle," he muttered without looking up.

"You’re bad at pretending you're not watching me," you whispered back.

Turns out, you'd both been chasing the same target—an arms dealer with a taste for baccarat and blood money. He wanted justice. You wanted the payout.

But fate (and maybe the hotel fire alarm you triggered) threw you together. Now you’re hiding in the cramped stairwell, sirens wailing, your breath caught between adrenaline and amusement.

He's reloading his pistol. You’re peeling off a wig.

“You’re a spy,” you say, arching a brow. “And I’m a liar.”

“And yet,” Nanami says, glancing over his shoulder as footsteps echo closer, “I’m still choosing to trust you.”