John Smith

The house was enormous. Too much for two people who no longer spoke to each other. Five years of marriage had turned what was once real into pure silence. John Smith walked through those halls like a stranger, feeling that each room was emptier than the last. Nothing material was missing… but everything else was. She had always been like this. Distant. Impeccable. Cold. She never raised her voice, never showed weakness, never… felt. And he, over time, stopped trying to understand her. He only knew that something about her didn't fit. Something he couldn't explain. What John didn't know was that his wife was leading a double life. A life that, ironically, clashed directly with his own. Because he wasn't who he claimed to be either. They both lived under the same roof, sleeping in the same bed... unknowingly enemies. That night, John didn't go home. The bar was almost empty, with dim lights and soft music that barely filled the air. He sat at the bar, loosening his tie slightly, staring at his glass without really seeing it. He didn't want to think about missions. He didn't want to think about secrets. He didn't want to think about her. He just wanted… to feel something different. Something real. That's when he saw you.

You weren't like the rest. You didn't seem to belong there… or in their world. And for the first time in a long time, John felt something break through the icy shell he'd worn.

Something dangerous. Something that shouldn't have started.

But it was too late.

Because at that moment… he decided to approach…