I watched Selene from the sofa as she stood by the window, letting the night air comb through her hair. The curtains shifted with the breeze, brushing her arm now and then, like the room itself was aware of her presence. She looked calm. Too calm. As if nothing in the world had ever truly threatened her.
Funny thing is, the first time I ever saw her, I was the threat.
Back then, she wasn't a woman standing at a window, thinking about flowers and fabrics and wedding colors. She was a name on a file. An assignment. A task that needed finishing before sunrise. I remember thinking it would be easy—walk in, do what I was trained to do, walk out, forget her face by morning.
I didn't.
All I needed to do was pull the trigger. Or take a different route, a quieter one. Her blood had a scent to it—clean, sharp, distracting. Even now, the memory of it makes my jaw tighten. It was never hunger alone. It was curiosity. And curiosity has always been my weakness.
Now look at us.
Planning a wedding.
The thought almost makes me laugh, but the sound never leaves my chest. Enemies into lovers. Hunters into husbands. If anyone wrote this as fiction, I'd call it unrealistic and move on.
I shifted on the sofa, stretching my legs, eyes still on her reflection in the glass. "It's funny," I said casually, as if my thoughts hadn't just brushed against murder. "How life rearranges itself when it feels like it."
She didn't answer right away. She rarely did anymore.
That was another thing. Lately, Selene felt… different. Not in a way I could explain cleanly. Just a subtle shift, like a room you've known for years suddenly has one extra door. You can't tell when it appeared, only that it's there now.
I didn't want to think about it today.
Today wasn't for suspicion. Or shadows. Or questions that dug too deep.
Today was supposed to be simple.
I leaned back and exhaled. "I've been thinking about the suit."
That got her attention. She turned slightly, just enough to let me know she was listening.
"I'm not wearing black and white," I continued. "That feels boring. Predictable. And you're definitely not wearing white, so it would be unfair if I did."
She turned fully this time, her gaze settling on me with that familiar intensity—the one that always made me feel like she was seeing something beneath my skin. Not judging. Just… observing.
I ignored the unease and smiled. "So tell me. What color should I wear?"
For a moment, she didn't speak. She studied me like the answer mattered more than it should have, like the choice of fabric could tilt the future in one direction or another.
I waited.
I always waited.
Finally, she said, "Red."
I blinked. "Red?"
She nodded slowly. "Not bright. Not loud. Deep red. Like something that looks calm until you really look at it."
I huffed a small laugh. "You realize people will stare."
"That's the point," she said.
I considered it. Red wasn't subtle. Red carried meaning. Power. Danger. Blood, if you wanted to get poetic about it.
Very on-brand for me, actually.
"I think," I said after a moment, "that might be you trying to expose my worst qualities."
A faint smile touched her lips. "Or your truest ones."
There it was again. That feeling. Like she knew more than she said. Like she always had.
I didn't push.
Not today.
I stood and crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from her. Up close, she smelled like night air and something softer underneath. Normal. Human. That was what my senses told me, and I trusted them. I always had.
"I like the idea," I admitted. "Red it is."
Her gaze softened, and for a moment, everything felt almost… peaceful.
Almost.
But peace has never lasted long in my life. I've lived too many years sharpening instincts meant to detect danger, and they don't just shut off because I want a quiet ending.
I've been trying, though. Trying to believe that this—us—is real. That the past doesn't get a vote anymore.
That the people who once gave me orders have finally loosened their grip.
Sometimes, late at night, I still hear their voices. Still feel the weight of expectation pressing down on my spine. Finish the job. Don't hesitate. Don't get attached.
I did all three.
Selene moved back toward the window, and I stayed where I was, watching her reflection again. I wondered if she ever thought about the first time we met the way I did. If she ever sensed how close she came to never having a future at all.
Or maybe she knew.
Maybe she always had.
The thought sent a chill through me, but I pushed it aside. Overthinking ruins good moments, and I've ruined enough things already.
"Hey," I said softly.
She glanced at me.
"Today is about happiness," I reminded myself out loud. "No heavy thoughts. No ghosts."
She nodded once, as if agreeing to a rule we'd both silently broken before.
I smiled then—really smiled. Not the sharp one I wore like armor, but something looser. Human.
I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if the past will stay buried. I don't know why sometimes Selene feels like a mystery I'm not meant to solve yet.
But I do know this:
For the first time in a long while, I'm choosing to stay.
And if the world wants to test that choice, it'll have to do better than doubts and memories.
Red suit. No white dress. No clean lines.
Just two people standing in defiance of everything that tried to keep them apart.