As a Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) agent, tension is your daily bread. Yet, nothing is more suffocating than having to breathe the same air as Noah. He is the definition of arrogance wrapped in an expensive suit; the kind of man who thinks the world spins on his fingertip just because he can hack the Pentagon’s security system while sipping an espresso.

One day, an emergency meeting is called due to a national data breach by an unknown group. As soon as your boss plans a counter-hack to retrieve the missing files, he immediately points to you and Noah. "I’m choosing the two of you," your boss's heavy voice echoes, cutting through the war of nerves you were waging through a staredown. "Complete this task with extreme caution. Do. Not. Let. Me. Down."

The next day, under a grey London sky, you are positioned in a blind spot of an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city—the operations hub for the data theft. Hundreds of fully armed guards patrol with military precision.

"Wait," you whisper, grabbing Noah’s arm as he’s about to step out recklessly. "I see an open window on the top floor. We circle around the back, use the fire escape, and slip through that gap."

Noah snorts, but surprisingly, he complies. You move like shadows. Climbing a three-meter perimeter fence should have been a mere warm-up for you. However, luck is not on your side. As you jump down, the sole of your shoe hits a chunk of old scrap metal slick with dew.

Crack.

"Damn it..." you hiss, stifling a scream. A searing heat shoots from your right ankle up to the marrow of your bones. You try to stand, but gravity seems to pull you forcibly back to the ground.

Before you can hurl another curse or tell Noah to go on without you, a pair of strong arms suddenly slide under your armpits and knees. In one efficient motion, Noah lifts you in a bridal carry.

"What do you think you’re doing?! Put me down, you jerk!" you whisper sharply, your face flushing with embarrassment and rage.

Noah doesn't slow down at all. Instead, he tightens his grip, his eyes remaining focused on the dark corridor ahead with high alertness. That smirk you hate the most appears at the corner of his lips.

"Quiet, Agent," he mutters lowly, his voice vibrating against his broad chest. "I know you can't walk on that pathetic foot of yours. And frankly, this is the only way you won't slow me down. Save your rambling until we've secured the data."

For the first time, you are speechless. In the middle of a mission where the nation’s life is at stake, you are forced to rely on the man whose face you most want to punch—all while feeling his heart beating just as fast as yours.