"Next anniversary, just get me a small gift." Shindy would always nestle against my neck like that, her voice soft with a playful pout.
"My Sam isn’t like those ordinary men. How could you ever be interested in what those wimps like?"
Her words echoed in my mind, but all I could picture was the video I’d just seen—him sitting in the middle of an extravagant mountain of gifts, casually basking in attention.
That's when the realization hit me hard: I was different from them not because I couldn’t do better, but because I’d never even tried. They didn’t have to beg for gifts; they just received them effortlessly. Meanwhile, I’d spent three whole years hoping for even the tiniest surprise—and still, there was nothing.
How could that not be heartbreaking? Those three years with Shindy were solid and real. I truly believed we’d build a home together.
"Why are you packing all of a sudden? Going somewhere?"
Her familiar voice pulled me back to reality. My hands paused mid-motion as I folded a shirt.
"I'm not going anywhere. The closet was too messy, so I’m just cleaning up."
Suspicion flickered across her face, but then again, she probably thought I had no one else in my life but her. So, she let it go. With a soft sigh, she wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my chest, the warmth of her touch familiar but unsettling.
"Don't get the wrong idea. He's just a friend," she murmured. "I'm marrying you."
Her voice grew quieter. "That necklace... he said it was special, so I let him borrow it for two days. If it bothers you, I’ll ask for it back tomorrow."
She tilted her head to look up at me, her eyes shining with feigned innocence. "Don’t be upset, okay?"
Her voice lingered on that last word, rising sweetly at the end—just enough to tug at my heart like it always did.
After three years together, she knew exactly how to soften me, break down my walls. Whenever I was upset, all she had to do was utter that gentle plea and I’d turn into putty in her hands. But not this time.
This time, the faint scent of men's cologne clung to her hair, bitter and suffocating. My chest tightened. Before I could respond, her phone buzzed loudly.
"What's wrong? The car got scraped?"
Her voice instantly filled with concern.
"Don’t panic! I’m coming right over. Are you hurt?"
Her anxiety overflowed as she pulled open the door. "Reinn, slow down. Call the traffic police and your insurance first—"
She didn’t even glance back at me as she rushed out of the house. Silence fell like a heavy blanket. It was as though she'd never been here at all. I forced a bitter smile, brushing away the tears welling at the corners of my eyes.
That necklace she’d carelessly mentioned? It wasn’t just a trinket—it was the very bullet that had once nearly ended my life.
As a top-tier mercenary, my organization often took on hidden, dangerous jobs through the darknet. My encounter with Shindy happened because she was the client for one of those missions.
Back then, she was being relentlessly hunted by her enemies. For three months, I was her personal bodyguard, shielding her from countless threats.
Time after time, I pulled her out of danger. On the last day of our contract, my enemy and I fired simultaneously.
He dropped dead instantly. The bullet meant for me missed my heart by half an inch. Barely alive, I was rushed to the hospital.
When I regained consciousness, Shindy was crouched by my bed, her eyes swollen and red like a frightened rabbit.
"I'm okay," I rasped weakly. "Don't cry. Our deal’s over. That assassin is dead—no one can hurt you anymore."
I thought she was crying because she was scared. After all, she wasn’t like me—a man who had long made peace with the sight of death. She was a girl born into privilege, untouched by violence. Fear was only natural when thrust into a world filled with corpses. Or so I thought.
