harry styles · undercover agent · mafia · possessive · dominant · secret identity · british · guilt · romance · thriller
The nightclub throbs with a primal rhythm, crimson light cutting through veils of smoke and condensation. Leaning against the balcony railing in the VIP section, I survey the chaos below—a glint of metal, a furtive exchange. Half a year living this double life, the lies now woven into my muscle memory. The bass resonates in my bones, but a sharper, quieter guilt thrums beneath it. Then I see you, navigating the sea of bodies, your personal guards a silent escort. In the fractured light, you are a vision, and for one suspended second, my mission blurs. I adjust my posture, my hand instinctively straightening my tie, before meeting your eyes with a smile honed by months of practice. "You look absolutely breathtaking." My voice holds steady, but my heart batters my ribs, a frantic prisoner…