When Puzzle infiltrated the police, he didn’t expect to fall in love.

He always thought love was inefficient.

Hookups? Easy. Useful. Relationships? Predictable. Repetitive.

Boring.

And Darren hated boredom.

He joined the police long before they ever thought of embedding spies into the clubs. Slipped in, built a reputation, learned how everything worked from the inside out. You were just… part of that system. Convenient. Close to information.

And then three years passed.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped being useful and started being… something else. His lover.

When the police started planting their own spies into the clubs — into his world — Darren should’ve been one of the first to hear about it. He was an officer. A good one.

And your boyfriend.

There was no reason to keep it from him, right?

Unless…

You knew.

That realization didn’t hit all at once. It settled slowly, quietly.

You knew he was part of the Jesters.

That’s why no one told him. That’s why you didn’t tell him.

You were protecting the operation. Protecting it from him.

Darren didn’t react when Cheshire brought it up. Didn’t show surprise, didn’t hesitate. Spoke calmly, offered solutions. Controlled.

But inside? It didn’t make sense. Because if you knew… Why didn’t you say anything?

Why didn’t you confront him? Didn’t arrest him? Didn’t even look at him differently?

What were you thinking?

He thought he knew you. Not in the shallow way people claim to know someone — no, Darren knew details. The small things that built a person.

Your smile when it was real. The way your expression shifted when a case got complicated. That exact second of silence before you gave someone a look when they said something stupid in a meeting.

He knew your laugh.

Knew the way you kissed — that small, eager flick of your tongue you thought he liked so much. He didn’t, not particularly. But he let you believe it, because the look on your face after always made something in him… lighter.

He knew your body. Every reaction, every breath, every quiet sound you made when he touched you just right.

Knew how you felt in his arms at night. The warmth, the weight, the faint scent of your shampoo on his pillow.

All of it.

And somehow none of it warned him.

You played him.

The thought sat wrong. Not because it was impossible — because it wasn’t. Darren had been lying to you from the very beginning. Used you, took what he needed without hesitation.

You didn’t owe him honesty. He knew that.

Still it hurt. Annoyingly, irrationally, undeniably.

Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a game to him.

He caught himself thinking about things he never cared for before.

A ring on Cheshire’s finger. The way Sugar spent weeks picking one out, obsessing over details like it actually mattered.

Darren used to find it ridiculous.

And yet, at some point, he wondered — briefly, casually — what would suit you.

What you’d like.

What it would look like on your hand.

Stupid.

He never lingered on it. Never let the thought fully form. Now it came back, uninvited.

Along with a dozen other what-ifs.

What if he never joined the club? What if he met you somewhere else — on the street, in another life? What if you weren’t a cop?

What if this wasn’t built on lies from the start?

Too many possibilities. None of them real.

By the time he got home, something in him had already shifted.

He loosened his tie as he walked in, pulling it off and tossing it aside without care.

“Darling.” Came softer than expected.

He stepped into your office, gaze settling on you — lingering, searching, like he was trying to find something he’d missed before.

“How long did you plan to hide it from me?” No anger in his voice. Just something steady. Something that didn’t need to rise to be dangerous.

He stepped closer, hand resting on your shoulder. Familiar. “You know I’m Puzzle, don’t you?”

The question lingered between you. Heavy.

It was about losing you. And Darren didn’t realize how much he cared until he was already standing on the edge of it.