She didn't mean for it to happen.
Not to someone like him.
Not during a mission like this.
Not when Jack's voice echoed in her head every night:
"Don't get attached. He's just a target."
But there she was—
standing outside her apartment window, staring at the tiny lavender bouquet he'd given her earlier.
She shouldn't have taken it.
She wasn't supposed to.
But when he held it out to her—hands trembling slightly, eyes soft—it felt wrong to refuse.
It felt… cruel.
And for the first time in years, she couldn't bring herself to be cruel.
She touched one of the petals now, gently, as if it were something fragile.
Just like him.
"Why did you smile at me like that?" she whispered to the empty room,
remembering the way he'd blushed when she complimented him.
He didn't even realize he was blushing.
That made her chest tighten.
He was too pure.
Too untouched by the games she played for a living.
Too trusting of the one person he absolutely shouldn't trust.
But the worst part wasn't his innocence.
It was how he looked at her.
Not with desire.
Not with manipulation.
Not with hidden intentions.
He looked at her like she was someone… good.
Like she was someone worth being around.
No one had ever looked at her that way.
She sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the bouquet tightly until her fingers trembled.
"I can't do this," she whispered to herself.
But she knew she would.
Because Jack didn't tolerate failure.
Because missions didn't allow feelings.
Because she had no room—no right—for weakness.
Yet every time she saw him, something inside her cracked a little more.
The way he talked softly, like he was afraid his voice might disturb the peace around him.
The way he listened, truly listened, as if her words mattered.
The way he thanked her for the smallest things—
as if kindness was foreign to him.
It made her angry.
Not at him…
but at the world that had shaped him this way.
Why did someone like him have to suffer so much?
Why did he have to be Jack's target at all?
She covered her face with her hands, exhaling shakily.
"This wasn't part of the plan…" she murmured.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Jack:
"Progress?"
She stared at the screen.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
She could have typed the truth:
"He trusts me."
But she hesitated.
For the first time.
Because a small, quiet ache in her chest whispered the truth she didn't want to admit:
She didn't want to break him anymore.
Not him.
Not the boy who held flowers like they were something sacred.
Not the boy who smiled like it hurt.
Not the boy who looked at her like she was warmth in a world that had only shown him cold.
She typed anyway.
"Everything is going according to plan."
But after sending the message,
That morning, the street was livelier than usual.
A few customers stopped by the flower stand where he was arranging fresh roses under the sun.
Among them was a girl—young, cheerful, the kind who smiled at everyone without hesitation.
She leaned close, too close, as she chose a bouquet.
"These look so pretty! Did you grow them?" she asked him brightly.
He froze, shy as always.
"N-No… I just arranged them."
"That's impressive," she said with a giggle, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"You have really nice hands."
He didn't know what to do, so he just nodded awkwardly.
And that's when she arrived.
The girl Jack had sent.
She had been walking toward the stand with her usual gentle smile…
but the moment she saw him talking to the other girl—
and worse, saw that girl leaning toward him—
her smile froze.
Her steps quickened.
Her eyes narrowed just a little.
Her jaw tightened.
"Good morning—" she started to say, but stopped mid-sentence when she heard the other girl giggle again.
He handed the cheerful girl the bouquet she chose.
Her fingers brushed his.
She blushed.
And that was it.
The spy girl's expression shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A twitch of the eyebrow.
A tightening of the lips.
A deep inhale that she absolutely did not need to take.
She walked straight to him and stood beside him, way too close—
so close the other girl jumped slightly.
"Who's this?" she asked sweetly,
with a smile so sharp the flowers behind her wilted in fear.
"Oh—um—just a customer," he stammered.
The other girl nodded and smiled.
"Yes, I was just buying—"
"Great," the spy girl cut in with a sugary tone.
"So now that you've bought it, you can go."
The customer blinked.
"Oh—uh—okay… thank you?"
She hurried away.
The spy girl stayed silent until the girl disappeared around the corner.
Then she turned to him, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look casual.
"You seem… busy today," she muttered.
He looked confused.
"A little, yes."
"And she was… very friendly," she added, voice slightly higher than usual.
"She was just buying flowers."
"She touched your hand."
"It just happened when I gave her the bouquet…"
"She giggled."
"She giggles at everything, I think—"
She narrowed her eyes at him dramatically, then pointed at the roses.
"Well, from now on, I get to help you with the roses."
He blinked. "…Why?"
"No reason."
She tossed her hair stubbornly.
"I just do."
He tried not to smile, but he couldn't hold it back.
"You're jealous."
Her eyes widened, scandalized.
"Me? Jealous? Of her?"
"Yes."
"Well— I— it's— that's—" she sputtered, then huffed loudly.
"I'm not jealous. I'm just… protective of my investment."
"Investment?"
She froze.
"…I mean—friend. Protective of my friend."
He laughed softly.
It was the first real laugh she'd ever heard from him,
and she hated how much she loved the sound.
She crossed her arms again, cheeks pink.
"Fine," she mumbled.
"Maybe I was a tiny bit jealous."
He smiled at her—warm, shy, grateful.
And her ent
That night, after she left the flower stand,
her steps slowed as she entered the dark alley she always used to call Jack.
But this time…
she didn't call.
She stood there, her hand trembling above her phone,
unable to press the screen.
Not after everything she felt that day.
Not after jealousy, not after laughter,
not after that tiny, innocent smile he gave her.
But the phone vibrated on its own.
Jack.
A cold shiver ran through her spine.
She swiped to answer.
Before she could speak,
Jack's voice filled her ear—low, sharp, impatient.
"You're taking too long."
She clenched her jaw.
"I'm doing everything you asked."
"Not fast enough," he hissed.
"He trusts you now.
It's time for the next step."
Her stomach twisted.
"Which is?" she asked, though she already feared the answer.
A smile crept into Jack's voice—
she could hear it.
"Bring him to me."
Her breath caught.
"What? Why now?"
"Why not now?" Jack replied coldly.
"You said he depends on you.
You said he smiles at you.
He'll follow you anywhere."
She swallowed.
Her voice barely came out.
"He… he won't expect that."
"That's the point," Jack snapped.
"Surprise is useful.
Trust is useful.
And you wasted enough days already."
She tightened her grip on the phone.
"I need more time."
Jack paused.
Silence.
Dangerous silence.
Then:
"You're getting attached, aren't you?"
Her heart dropped.
"No," she said quickly.
"It's just—"
"Stop lying to me," he said, voice like ice.
"You forget how well I know you."
She felt exposed.
Naked in her own lies.
"She's losing control," Jack said mockingly, as if speaking to someone beside him.
"Imagine that… the girl who fooled a dozen men can't handle one broken flower boy."
She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to steady.
"I can do it," she whispered.
"I just… need to do it carefully."
"No," Jack said firmly.
"You'll do it tomorrow."
She stiffened.
"Tomorrow?!"
"Yes."
His tone turned calm—too calm.
"As a date, a walk, an errand… I don't care.
Just bring him."
Her throat tightened painfully.
"Jack… he trusts me."
Jack smirked through the line.
"Good.
Then it will hurt more when he realizes what you really are."
Her eyes watered.
Not from fear—
from guilt she wasn't supposed to feel.
"I don't want to hurt him that way," she whispered without meaning to.
Jack's voice darkened like a storm.
"That boy ruined my plans for a year.
He made a fool of me.
He escaped from me."
His voice dropped lower.
"He took something from me.
Now I'm taking something from him."
She covered her mouth, clutching the phone as if it was burning her skin.
"You do your job," Jack said quietly,
"or I'll come get him myself."
The call ended.
The alley fell silent.
Her breath trembled violently as she lowered the phone.
Tomorrow.
She had to bring him tomorrow.
But for the first time…
she wasn't afraid of Jack's anger.
She was afraid
of the look in his eyes
when the boy she was starting to care for
realized she had led him straight into hell.
ire heart stumbled.
Because she knew she wasn't supposed to feel anything.
But jealousy…
was something you couldn't fake.
a single tear slid down her cheek…
because for the first time in her life,
she wished it wasn't true.