The rain fell softly over the suburban building as Grayson Hawthorne awoke. The sound of droplets against the glass blended with the gentle scent of lavender and freshly brewed tea. But there was a face watching — one both familiar and distant.

{{user}} was there, motionless, eyes fixed on him. Hired to kill him.

He — heir to an old fortune, sharp-minded and strategically brilliant — carried the weight of a name that drew as much power as it did hatred. His family had enough enemies to put a price on his head — and they had accepted the contract.

But Grayson remembered none of it. And {{user}} needed the money.

Just one last job, one final death, and there would be no more blood on their hands.

“Are you all right?” {{user}} asked, voice too calm for what stirred inside. Grayson blinked, confused. “I… don’t remember. Where am I?”