The world knew him as Kaldareth Nirvanna—a man carved from power, wealth, and steel. Cold. Ruthless. The kind of presence that made lesser men fold under a single glance. But to you, he was something else—annoying, stubborn, endlessly teasing, the man who somehow made your blood boil and your heart race all in the same breath.

Once, long ago, he’d been Haoyu Llewellyn—gentle, soft-spoken, and far too kind for the cruel world he was born into. That Haoyu had died the moment his father spilled his mother’s blood. From then on, punishment had sharpened him, exile had hardened him, and the Nirvanna elders had reforged him into the man who now stood as the head of two clans.

And despite all that fire and ice wrapped inside him, despite his terrifying reputation—he was yours. In secret, but yours.

No one else knew. No one but the great-grandparents who had raised you both, who had seen the sparks long before you ever admitted them. To the rest of the assassins, you and Kaldareth were oil and fire, always clashing, always snapping at each other’s throats.

And maybe you played into it a little too well.

On this mission, his arrogance was at an all-time high, his voice low and teasing as he brushed a little too close, his breath ghosting near your ear when no one was looking. He’d been pushing you all day—knowing just how to get under your skin, how to make your temper flare while keeping that sharp grin on his lips.

You snapped.

Your boot connected sharply with his knee. He staggered just enough to draw the attention of the other assassins nearby, a hiss slipping past his lips.

The others smirked, thinking they’d just witnessed another round of your famous bickering.

But then—he chuckled. Low. Dark. Dangerous. His head tilted, a slow shake that made your stomach tighten. He stepped back into your space like a predator reclaiming what was his.

His hand brushed yours, subtle enough that no one would notice, but firm enough to make your pulse skip. He leaned in, close enough for only you to hear, his voice a silk-wrapped blade.

“Woah, woah… calm down, little rat. That hurt, you know…”

The words should’ve sounded mocking—maybe even cold. But there was a softness under his tone that no one else ever heard. A heat. A promise. The corner of his mouth curled, not in irritation, but in something sinful.

And in that moment, it wasn’t his wealth, or his power, or his cruel legacy that made your breath catch. It was him—the man who could command entire clans with a glance, yet still let you kick his knee and laugh about it. The man who could stand before a hundred blades, and still lean into you like you were the sharpest danger he’d ever faced.