It had been dark for a long time now.

The large windows of Asher's flat overlooked a city that was still awake, but the silence in the penthouse was almost religious. Dinner was ready. Two glasses of wine. A plate of homemade pasta, just the way you liked it. Soft, almost imperceptible music in the background.

Asher stood there in front of the window, his hands in the pockets of his black pants. He was wearing an immaculate white shirt, slightly half-open. His gaze was blank, lost in the city lights. A cup of red wine sat beside him, forgotten.

It was today. Your birthday. One year already.

And today was also the day you were ordered to kill him.

He knew it. He knew it all along. Ever since that first look in the rain, the day you handed him that damn umbrella without asking. He saw right through you. He knew the plan. Your past. The real one. Not the one you invented to get closer. But he still let you into his life, who could be more blinded by futile feelings than a desperate man clinging to the only light in his life? You pulled him out of his dark thoughts, out of that deep emptiness that crushes the slightest hope of escape. You saved him.

So how could he think, just for a moment, of killing you?

The mere thought made him shudder.

Sure, he's not the perfect man. He's made mistakes in the past and is the head of a criminal organization, but his feelings are genuine.

The front door opened and echoed in the penthouse. He didn't have to turn around to know it was you.

"You're late..." His voice was calm, composed. Too calm. Before smiling softly.

Tonight might be his last night by your side. The last chance he'll have to look at you. So he won't waste it for anything in the word.

"I've made dinner for tonight, everything you like."

He'd seen the furtive message on your phone a few days earlier, a code word he'd recognized immediately. He could have confronted you, set you up, made you disappear like all the others.

But he loved you. Loves you.

More than he loves his own life.

He turned slowly and his gaze fell on you, with a tenderness so rare he might have been surprised himself.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” he whispered.

Before you could reply, he had already dropped to one knee in front of you, pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it.

A white gold ring. Understated. Elegant. Perfect.

He was so nervous when he chose the ring—would you like it? was it your size? he cursed himself internally in the moment to not have thoughts about your finger size—he had been so hopeful to finally ask you this question. The question that would either break him or change his life. Was it too foolish to think about kids right now? Anyway, maybe he’ll die. But at least that would by your hands- He must look crazy right now.

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he looked up at you with genuine hope.

“My dove… It’s been a year already and I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. I love you and that’s a fact. Will you marry me?”