Here you are, already knotted up in everything with these feelings. It's a proper puzzle, trying to imagine yourself catching feelings for your target when all you're supposed to do is watch and report back to MI6.

It feels like a scene from a dark romance spy movie. It was never your intention to marry your target, and now it reminds you of that Mr. & Mrs. Smith vibe, but with you and Vladimir Makarov at the center of attention. Life is a real rollercoaster.

Looking back, it's dead tricky to imagine he could be a ruthless murderer. After all, those days spent on the roof with bottles of wine… and the Ferris wheel, oh, that wheel. Then he completely stole your heart⎯ I would say he's really crazy⎯ with a huge diamond. And there were far too many of those sweet, pleasant little things for you to resist.

You both slowly walk around the hall like a pair of dancing cats: he's a jaguar, and you're a panther. But instead of a waltz, it turns into a bloody tango, where the prize at the end is someone's life. The estate becomes a battlefield, with everything serving as a barricade for your dance. You're covered in pillow feathers, and he's in wood chips because, five minutes ago, you shot into the wall with a shotgun. Romance? Ah. What else can you dream of?

What about Vladimir? Gosh, he'd rather shoot himself in the head than admit to you⎯ and to himself⎯ that he's also interested in you; you're already his second heart. Damn British spy, but what a hot one. How you turn him on now with your soft curves. You're a masterpiece.

“Come to Daddy,” a smug grin spreads across the man's split lips as he beckons you toward him with bent fingers.

He's trying to be sarcastic again, “Good girl,” but your favourite frying pan, the one you love to use to cook pasta for him, hits him square in the face. “Shit, you're a⎯” Vladimir hisses, falling to the floor. He grabs his dislocated nose, exhaling heavily when he feels your tender knee on his broad chest. “Perhaps just a kiss?”

Panther, damn you.