I’m a killer. But my sweet, gentle husband doesn’t know a thing about it. After all, this is a man who can’t bring himself to kill a spider, a man who needs my help to open a stubborn pickle jar. Then came the mission at the biggest casino in Las Vegas, where I ran into the legendary top-tier assassin, "Orbit." The eyes behind his mask were ice, and the Glock in his hand was pointed straight at my forehead. But why… why was Orbit wearing the wedding ring I gave my husband on a chain around his neck? 1 The bullet tore through the target’s temple at the exact moment a text from my husband, Nathan, lit up my phone. I dragged the body out of sight with practiced ease, then clipped onto the rope I’d anchored to the window frame earlier and rappelled down the side of the brownstone. A black Aston Martin was idling at the curb, just as planned. I slid into the passenger seat. Lilith, my handler and getaway driver, tossed a pack of wet wipes into my lap without taking her eyes off the road. I cleaned my hands, the scent of antiseptic cutting through the city air. Finally, I opened my phone. Nathan had sent me a selfie, a playful shot of him in the kitchen wearing nothing but the apron I got him for Christmas. A wave of warmth spread through my chest, as broad and comforting as his pecs. I softened my voice, holding the phone to my ear. "Hey, baby. Wait up for me, okay? Got held up at work, but I'm on my way home now." From the driver's seat, Lilith made an exaggerated gagging noise. "God, Anya, you're disgusting. Aren't you people supposed to be all reserved and stoic?" A small smile played on my lips. "If you had a husband as sweet as mine waiting at home with a hot meal, you'd be just like me." Lilith flipped me off in the rearview mirror. "That's only because he thinks you're a goddamn programmer tapping away at a keyboard all day!" I shrugged, unbothered. She was just jealous of my sweet husband at home. 2 My name is Anya. My codename is Nyx. I’m an operative for "X," an international assassination syndicate. I got married a year ago. It was a whirlwind romance with Nathan, a guy I met through a mutual friend. Finding the right person in this country, in my line of work, is next to impossible. But Nathan… he was everything I never knew I wanted. He’s half-American, half-British, with this ridiculously handsome face and a heart of gold. He has soft black hair, a gentle nature, and a chest I could get lost in… A lot of women might not be able to accept a partner who’s a stay-at-home husband, but for me, it was perfect. Seriously, what could be better than coming home after a day of high-stakes violence to a gourmet meal, and then collapsing into the arms of the man you love? Exactly. Like now. 3 The moment I walked through the door, Nathan was there, taking my coat and pulling me into a hug that smelled like garlic and rosemary. "Honey, you're finally home," he murmured into my hair. "The light in the living room went out. I was getting scared, and I don't know how to fix it." I melted into his embrace for a second before pulling away. "Don't worry, I've got it." I hopped onto a chair and swapped out the dead bulb for a new one. For a woman whose personal best for blind-assembling a Desert Eagle is twenty-two seconds, it was child's play. But my helpless husband looked at me with pure, unadulterated awe. "You're amazing, Anya." I leaned down and kissed him. In my eyes, a man who could conjure up the feast laid out on our dining table was just as amazing. We sat down to eat, and I asked casually, "So, what did you get up to today, baby?" Nathan paused for a beat, a fork halfway to his mouth, then smiled. "Oh, you know. Watered the plants, did a deep clean of the bathroom. Then I started prepping for dinner." See? My perfect, gentle husband. I couldn't resist. I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and whispering in his ear. "Dinner's over. Ready for dessert?" He scooped me up without a word and carried me to the bedroom. But just as his fingers started working on the buttons of my shirt, he froze. "You said you were working late," he said, his voice suddenly tight. "Does 'working late' now involve getting a man's tie stuffed in your pocket?" My eyes widened as he pulled a wrinkled silk tie from my coat pocket—the murder weapon I’d used to strangle my target two hours ago. 4 Nathan held me, tears streaming down his face. "What did I do wrong?" he choked out. "Why would you need someone else?" "Is his cooking better than mine? Is he better in bed?" "Is it because I don't have a job? I have savings, Anya, a lot. It's all yours." "Honey… please don't leave me…" His words were punctuated by desperate, ragged breaths, and my attempts to deny everything were lost in shattered moans as he moved against me. All I could do was hold him tighter. The next morning, I tried again, insisting that I loved him, only him, and that I would never, ever cheat. But I couldn't explain the tie. I couldn't exactly tell him his quiet programmer wife had more blood on her hands than a butcher. A man as gentle as Nathan would never be able to handle it. He’d be terrified. He’d leave me. 5 To prove my loyalty, I took the entire week off, clearing my schedule to stay home with Nathan. I bought him flowers, designer clothes, anything I thought he might want. I let him have his way with me in bed, whenever and however he wanted. But a shadow still lingered in his eyes. He asked for the tie back, and I told him I’d thrown it away. Honey, it was evidence. My life is a tightrope walk over a pit of danger, but I would never, ever allow my sweet, gentle husband to be exposed to any of it. His sadness deepened. Still, he cooked me lavish meals and told me with a determined look in his eye, "It's not your fault. I believe you, Anya. You didn't cheat. It must have been some creep from the outside, trying to seduce you. That’s why he would do something so sleazy, putting his tie in your pocket." I latched onto the excuse. "You're right, baby. It was definitely my creepy coworker. But he has no chance. I can't stand those cold, robotic tech guys. I only love you. You're so gentle, you make me want to protect you." Nathan’s hand, which had been struggling with a can of tomatoes, suddenly stilled. "Honey…" He handed the can and the opener to me. "I can't get it. Can you help me?" I popped the lid open with a simple twist of my wrist. He gazed at me with that familiar look of adoration and love, his long lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. My head only reached his shoulder, but in these moments, I could feel his complete reliance on me. I kissed his shoulder blade, filled with a fierce, protective love. "If I ever did cheat," I whispered, "you could beat the hell out of me and then divorce me." I felt him smile against my cheek. His voice was as gentle as always when he replied. "No. I'd kill him. We'd never get divorced." Such a childish, silly thing to say. This was a man who couldn't even bring himself to kill a chicken for dinner. A wave of tenderness washed over me, immediately followed by a pang of guilt for the secret I was keeping. My sweet, helpless husband couldn't possibly imagine that his wife had, in fact, killed many, many men. 6 When Lilith finally lost her patience and started screaming at me through the secure comms unit, I told Nathan I had to end my "vacation" and get back to the office. "We're already shorthanded, and you dare to go off-grid for a week? Can you stop hovering over that house husband of yours for five minutes?" she shrieked. "I always thought you'd end up with someone from the life. I never figured you for the type to get lost in domestic bliss!" I couldn't be bothered to argue. She would never understand this kind of happiness. "Anything big on the horizon?" I asked, a smile creeping into my voice. "Our first wedding anniversary is next month. I want to buy him something really, really expensive." "Bitch," Lilith muttered, before her tone turned sly. "Actually, there is something. A million-dollar bounty. But it's already been claimed." I wasn't concerned. "There aren't many people who can outbid me for a contract. You don't trust me?" What she said next, however, sent a genuine jolt through me. "The person who claimed it," she said, her voice dropping, "is Orbit." 7 Orbit. A name every killer knew. A legend. An insurmountable force. He wasn't loyal to any organization; his only allegiance was to the perfect execution of a mission. It didn't matter who the target was or where they were hiding—a president, a warlord, another top-tier assassin—Orbit would complete the job within the given timeframe. His own name carried the highest bounty on the dark web, a figure so astronomical no one even dared to accept the contract. His codename meant "path," and there was a saying among assassins: The world runs on Orbit's… well, orbit. When I was younger, I was arrogant. I once took a contract that Orbit had already claimed. I ended up watching from a distance as my target’s head exploded from a perfect shot, fired from 600 meters away. I never even saw a shadow of Orbit. But things were different now. I was a married woman. I had a sweet, helpless husband to support! I decided to take it. I would at least try. The thought of competing with a killer of Orbit's caliber made my adrenaline surge. Besides, for some reason, Orbit had been taking very few jobs over the past year. Any mission that caught his interest had to be something special. Rumor had it he’d turned down a five-million-dollar contract to take out a mercenary leader, claiming he needed to "focus on his family and cut back on the rough stuff." No one believed it. The consensus was that he'd made so much money he was planning a gradual retirement. Lilith started gossiping again. "I heard he's got British blood. Are all you Brits so—" I snapped the comms unit shut. I wasn't alone. Someone was following me. 8 Without changing my pace, I altered my route, heading slowly toward Elwood Drive. Today’s target was a gallery curator named Grant. He ran several "art fund" projects as a front for smuggling artifacts and laundering money. My client, an Indian-American art collector, had been one of his victims. Grant had convinced him to loan a collection of medieval paintings for a special exhibition. When the paintings were returned, nearly a third of them were forgeries. The client was paying me a hundred thousand dollars. It should have been a simple job; I’d planned to end Grant’s life in his villa this morning. But I hadn't counted on being followed. My tail was good. Very good. And strange. I deliberately created an opening, a moment of vulnerability to draw him out, but he made no move. Was I not the target? Was it the organization? Or was this just an intel agent on a fishing expedition? The gallery opening was about to start. I decided I couldn't waste any more time. I'd kill Grant first and deal with my mysterious shadow later. 9 At 11:00 AM sharp, the security feeds at the Sanctuary Gallery went dark, courtesy of Keyboard, our tech guy. I had already ditched my tail and changed from the plaid shirt I’d worn that morning into an elegant cocktail dress. Grant appeared in the main hall. I mingled, even exchanged a few pleasantries with him like any other guest. "Alright, Nyx," Lilith's voice crackled in my hidden earpiece. "Keyboard's about to create a minor power surge. Use the confusion to slip into Grant's private lounge." Everything was set. I hid in the shadows of the lounge, a silent predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But Grant never came. Instead, it was Lilith's frantic voice that broke the silence. "Abort, Nyx, abort! It's done. Grant is dead." "It was… Orbit." I erased my presence from the room and calmly walked back into the main gallery while Lilith filled me in. The security feed had dropped for exactly one minute. When it came back online, Grant was dead in the special exhibition hall—a room that wasn't scheduled to open for another two hours. His body was kneeling before a painting titled The Betrayed Saint. A single bullet had passed through the center of his forehead and struck the heart of the saint in the painting. Tucked into the frame of the canvas was a black, gold-embossed card. On it was a single word. Orbit. 10 Lilith was spiraling. I could hear the frantic sound of her chewing on her fingernails over the comm. "A hundred grand! There's no way Orbit would take a job this small, let alone leave his calling card!" she hissed. "Did someone in our organization piss him off? Is this a threat? Or is there something else going on with this gallery?" I didn't feel like talking. All I could think about was the hundred thousand dollars I had just lost. I pulled out my phone and texted Nathan. [Honey, work is exhausting. Miss you so much.] Nathan usually replied instantly, but this time, it took a few moments. [Miss you too.] [Can't wait to see you.] My heart ached with a sweet longing. I wanted nothing more than to be home in his arms. Before leaving, and with Grant's body still undiscovered, I quickly purchased a small oil painting of a field of wildflowers from the gallery's main collection. Honestly, I knew nothing about art. But I knew my gentle husband would love it. 11 Nathan was, as I predicted, thrilled. He pulled me into a tight hug, his casual loungewear soft against my skin. "So that's where you were today, buying me a gift. You're too good to me, Anya." I ran my fingers through his hair. The frustration Orbit had caused me earlier simply melted away. "What did you do today? Did you miss me?" Nathan smiled. "I tried my hand at painting, actually. Discovered I have absolutely no talent for it." I was about to ask where he'd gotten the paints—I didn't remember us having any—when he pulled out an exquisite box. He opened it to reveal a magnificent gown. It was a backless, crimson dress, covered in delicate gold beading that shimmered under the light. It looked impossibly expensive. "Would you ever wear something like this, honey?" he asked, his lips brushing against my ear. "I don't think I've ever seen you dressed up like this." Of course he hadn't. A programmer wouldn't own a dress like this. The only time I wore gowns was for undercover assignments, borrowing them from Lilith’s extensive collection. Later that night, the beautiful red dress ended up in a wrinkled heap on the floor. Nathan was particularly insatiable, his kisses leaving me breathless. But as always, I was indulgent with my sweet, gentle husband. Even as my legs felt like jelly, I managed to whisper, "Baby… you shouldn't have… spent so much." "I rarely wear… dresses… This must have cost a fortune…" My words were swallowed by his kisses. Maybe it was his pride as a house husband, I thought. My helpless, adorable man. It only strengthened my resolve to work harder for our life together. I never would have guessed my next opportunity to wear a dress would come so soon. 12 At the Styx Club, the largest underground casino in Las Vegas, I stood behind a blackjack table, my face hidden by a stark white mask. Dressed in a tight black gown, I dealt cards with practiced, fluid motions. Everyone here, from the patrons to the staff, was masked. The "big job" Lilith had assigned me—the million-dollar contract—was here. And so was he. The legendary assassin everyone feared. Orbit. Looking out at the sea of gilded corruption and desperate glamour, my thoughts drifted back to Nathan, waiting for me at home. I’d told him I was on a business trip to the East Coast. If only he knew… I pictured his gentle smile, the way his muscles relaxed when I held him, the familiar scent of his favorite sweater. Beneath my mask, my expression softened. I took a deep breath. The thought of collapsing into my husband's arms after this was all over filled me with a surge of determination. Even if it's Orbit, I'm going to take him on. 13 The target's name was Kavi. Thirty-eight years old, Persian-British. He cultivated the image of a refined gentleman, but in reality, he was a monster. Under the guise of philanthropic medical investments, Kavi secretly financed illegal human experimentation projects across the globe. My client was a mother whose daughter had been taken from her. When one of my colleagues rescued the girl from Kavi's "research facility," she was missing both of her eyes and her lower legs. Three days after coming home, the seventeen-year-old girl killed herself with a fruit knife. Recent events had made Kavi paranoid. He was now constantly surrounded by a team of bodyguards. But here, inside the Styx Club, no one without an invitation was allowed. This was my chance. 14 I waited patiently until a masked Kavi sat down at my table. My fingers flew, shuffling and cutting the deck with a flourish. In the seamless arc of the cards, I made my move. An Ace, a King. They landed perfectly in Kavi's hand. After a few rounds, Kavi's stack of chips had grown considerably. He leaned back, rubbing his left arm with a satisfied hum. He was relaxing. My own nerves, however, were tightening. Despite me feeding cards to Kavi, one man at the table kept winning. In fact, he was winning more than everyone else combined. He wore an impeccably tailored black velvet suit, and an emerald brooch on his lapel caught the dim light with a predatory glint. No matter how much he won, his demeanor never changed. He was a statue of calm indifference, stacking his chips with slow, deliberate movements. There was an aloofness about him, the cold detachment of a man who was used to being in control. He knew I was cheating. He had to. I took a deep breath, preparing for the next hand. Suddenly, the lights in the casino went out. A moment later, a smooth voice echoed from the overhead speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Styx Club's midnight masquerade." 15 A single, dark gold spotlight illuminated a dance floor on one side of the casino. Soft jazz began to play, and the crowd started to move. A gloved hand extended, a delicate one accepted. Masked figures began to twirl and sway, their silhouettes weaving through the golden haze. I leaned against the blackjack table, my eyes locked on Kavi as he made his way toward the dance floor. My hand slipped into a hidden slit in my dress, my fingertips brushing the hilt of my knife. I had a plan. Lure him into the shadows, and end his life without a sound. I took a step forward, and an icy point of metal pressed sharply against the small of my back. "Don't move." The man's voice was a low, cold monotone, utterly devoid of emotion. Every nerve in my body screamed, but I kept my expression neutral. "The Styx has a no-firearms policy. You fire that gun, and you won't walk out of here alive either." "Is that so?" he replied, his tone flat. "Feel free to test it." 16 The one small mercy was that the man in the suit didn't seem to want to cause a scene. He prodded me forward with the gun, guiding me through the club's internal corridors. Every employee we passed, from dealers to security guards, stepped aside and bowed their heads respectfully. Not a single person questioned the weapon in his hand. My stomach sank. I was in deep, deep trouble. We walked to the end of a long hallway and entered an impossibly lavish private suite. A crystal chandelier cast a cold, sterile light from the ceiling. "Knocking out a dealer and hiding her in a supply closet without anyone noticing… you've got some skills," he said. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. "If I'd known you were the owner of the Styx, I would've been feeding you the winning hands." He ignored me completely. "I respect talent. So I'll give you the courtesy of knowing why you're about to die. Nyx." My pupils contracted. He knew my codename. The owner of the Styx Club was Orbit. Shit. If I'd known this was his territory, I never would have taken this job. But I couldn't die here. Nathan was waiting for me. Our anniversary was coming up. I forced a smile. "We're in the same business. Can't we talk this out—" Before the words were even out of my mouth, I drew a miniature pistol from a hidden holster in my dress. But Orbit was faster. A single, clean kick sent my gun flying. He snatched a silver dinner fork from a nearby table and threw it like a dart. I jerked my head to the side. The tines grazed my cheek, tearing my white mask and sending it fluttering to the floor. My face was exposed. The gun in his hand, which had been aimed squarely at my forehead, wavered for a fraction of a second. BANG. The bullet screamed past my ear, shattering a crystal glass on the bar behind me. For some reason, Orbit didn't raise his gun again. Instead, he closed the distance between us, grabbing my shoulder with one hand. With the other, he unfastened his expensive-looking tie and used it to bind my hands behind the chair. He stared at me, then took a slow, deep breath. "Ms. Nyx," he said, his voice suddenly altered. "I've changed my mind. Perhaps we could cooperate."
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