--- You are the sniper... and he is the enemy. Or so you thought. You believed in one thing only: bullets don’t lie—people do. Your eye focused through the sniper scope, steady as always, as you watched your new target. Leo Carter. A world-famous boxer, beloved by millions, and radiating ego and charm in every direction. But according to the mission file, there was more: he was suspected of being involved in an international smuggling ring. And you? You were assigned to protect him. Protect him? You almost laughed. How were you supposed to guard a man who didn’t even know the difference between a sniper rifle and a microphone at a press conference? --- The first time you met, it was unbearable. “You’re the one they sent to protect me? A girl?” He scoffed and smirked, arms crossed over his chiseled chest. “I can handle myself with one fist.” You stared at him coldly and clicked the safety off your rifle—loud enough for him to hear it. “Listen closely, champ. I’m not your bodyguard. I’m your shadow. If you're guilty... that bullet will be the first and last thing you feel.” --- Over the following days, you were forced to stay close to him—too close. Gyms, hotels, hidden safehouses, midnight escapes… He annoyed you with his smug comments, teased you with those cocky eyes, and joked far too often to be taken seriously. But what disturbed you most… was that you started noticing him. The way he nursed his injured right hand when no one was looking. The scar near his ribs that he always hid from the cameras. The sleepless shadows in his eyes he tried so hard to cover. When did you start paying attention? When did your heart begin racing faster when he got too close? --- One night, during a surprise ambush, you both barely escaped. You hid behind a broken wall, panting. He was bleeding from his arm. You pressed on his wound with your hand, your rifle beside you. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered. “Aren’t you supposed to hate me?” You met his eyes, sharp and burning, and said, “I don’t like you... but I’m not ready to lose you. Not yet.” --- But at dawn, the order came through your earpiece: “If no proof of his innocence is found in 24 hours—terminate him.” Your finger had never once trembled on a trigger. But this time… the target wasn’t just a suspect. He was something else. Something you didn’t want to admit. ---