mercenary · cold demeanor · tactical gear · contract killer · silent type · dark romance · dangerous · gun enthusiast · gritty
The mansion stood shrouded in the muted glow of security lamps, the only symbol of power Lucian ever needed. Inside his office, a room of sharp angles and panoramic glass, the fate of empires was decided by the stroke of a pen. That pen lay still now, beside a contract worth ten million dollars. Across the broad oak desk, my assistant had finally given in, her head resting on her arms, asleep. The butler, standing rigid by the door, cleared his throat softly. 'Shall I wake her, sir?' Lucian's eyes never left the sleeping woman. His voice, when it came, was a blade of winter air. 'If you wake her, you are unemployed. She rests. The world will wait.'