I’m the world’s top mercenary—all because of her words. “The world is too dangerous. I want a home with you.”

And I believed it. I left the organization, abandoning my past and stood by her side. Until I overheard her talking to a friend.

“Boyfriend? He’s just a bodyguard I can sleep with.”

Then, my friend mentioned a name—Reinn Xylo. The moment she heard it, her expression softened. Her voice became gentler, sweeter. “Reinn is different,” she said dreamily. “He’s the cleanest, purest boy in the world.”

In that instant, it felt like my dream shattered into sharp fragments. I narrowed my eyes and called Boss, who had been waiting for my return.

“Boss, that S-rank mission you mentioned last time—I’ll take it.”

——

“You sure?” Boss’s voice was steady but firm. “It’s a classified mission. No contact with the outside world for a year. Aren’t you in a stable relationship with your fiancée?”

I looked across the room at the woman I had loved for three years. She sat elegantly on the couch, swirling a wine glass in her hand. That same tender smile lingered on her face—the one she’d worn while speaking his name.

I spoke softly, “I’ve thought about it.”

Boss didn’t press further. “Good. Get ready. I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow night.”

After ending the call, I pushed the door open and walked inside. Derisive gazes immediately turned toward me.

“Well, well, Mr. Hund has graced us with his presence,” one sneered. “Ms. Shindy is really something—always bringing her boyfriend along to drink for her.”

Another voice chimed in, dripping with mockery. “He’s not a boyfriend. He’s her fiancé, remember?”

“Right, right,” someone laughed. “Shindy lets him risk his life protecting her, so naturally, she offers her body as a reward. What a clever arrangement—bodyguard and lover, all in one.”

These were Shindy Noel’s friends—the notorious second-generation elites of Jamestown. They’d mocked me countless times before.

I ignored them and walked straight to sit beside Shindy. Seeing my indifference, their expressions turned sour. Their taunts grew sharper.

“What? Think you’re really her fiancé now? We’re talking to you—can’t you hear us?”

Shindy laughed lightly and handed me a glass of wine. She turned to the woman who had spoken, a smile curving her lips.

“Can’t the wine shut your mouth for once? He’s my savior. Don’t piss me off.”

Then she tilted her head toward me, signaling for me to drink.

“They’re just joking. Don’t mind them,” she said sweetly. “It’s my birthday today. They’ve toasted me so many times I’ll pass out if you don’t help me.”

I remained silent, my expression unreadable. Sensing my mood, Shindy sighed softly and added in a gentle tone, “Next time, don’t say stuff like that. He doesn’t like it.”

Over the years, Shindy had often brought me to these events. I’d once believed it meant she valued me—that she wanted me to be part of her world. But now, it was clear. To her, I was nothing more than a servant who could drink on her behalf and a bodyguard she could sleep with. Her friends exchanged glances, clearly displeased but unwilling to push further.

Just then, the door opened and a figure stepped inside. He looked out of place, clutching a gift box nervously in his hands. His knuckles were pale from the pressure and his expression was one of hesitant unease—like someone stepping into a world completely foreign to him.

Shindy shot up from her seat beside me, a bright smile lighting up her face.

She hurried over to him. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree you’d wait until I was finished?”

The boy’s nervous expression melted into surprise and delight at the sight of her. He held out the gift box with trembling hands.

“Happy birthday, Shindy,” he said shyly.

“It’s almost midnight. I wanted to give you your gift before the clock strikes twelve.”

Just then, the teasing voices of Shindy’s friends echoed through the room.

“Well, well, isn’t this Mr. Reinn?” one sneered. “Better to see once than hear a hundred times—what a cute little white rabbit.”

Shindy’s expression darkened immediately. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a wine glass from the table and hurled it at the offender.

“Shut your mouth! If you dare to scare him, I swear I won’t let you off!”

The chill radiating from her was palpable, freezing the atmosphere in the private room. Silence fell as everyone registered the fury in her eyes. Her reaction caught me off guard. I stood there, momentarily dazed. Her friends had merely teased Reinn and she flew into a rage, as though he’d suffered a grave injustice.

Yet just moments ago, when those same friends had said far worse things to me, she had merely laughed and scolded them half-heartedly. I lowered my head, a bitter smile curling my lips. The heavy atmosphere lingered, so I picked up two wine glasses and walked over to Reinn, offering him one.

“Mr. Xylo, nice to meet you. I’m Samuel Hund.”

Before Reinn could respond, Shindy swiftly took the glass from my hand and downed it in one go.

“He has a sensitive stomach and doesn’t drink,” she said. “I’ll drink for him.”

In the three years I’d been with Shindy, I’d lost count of how many times I’d drunk for her at gatherings like this. But now, before Reinn could even protest, she had already stepped in to protect him. I opened my mouth to speak, but my gaze caught on something—the pendant around Reinn’s neck. It was an old, faded bullet casing.

Noticing my stare, Reinn clutched the necklace tightly, his voice nervous.

“Is something wrong, Samuel?”

Before I could reply, Shindy spoke up hastily. “It’s special,” she said quickly. “I gave it to him last time we met.”

I looked at her closely. There was a flicker of discomfort on her face. After three years by her side, I knew her too well. She wasn’t explaining for Reinn’s sake—she was afraid I’d question him. But she didn’t understand me. I, Samuel, was never the type to cling or pry.

“Now that your male companion is here, I’ll take my leave.” I spoke calmly. “Happy birthday, Shindy.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the private room.

When I got home, my phone buzzed.

A notification popped up—someone had tagged me in a short video.

In the clip, Reinn sat surrounded by a mountain of gifts, a large bouquet of Black Knight roses by his side and a birthday hat perched awkwardly on his head. The caption read:

[Those who love you will spoil you like a child. For the first time, I learned that someone who doesn’t celebrate birthdays can still receive so many gifts.]

The video disappeared and a message followed seconds later.

[I’m sorry, Samuel. I tagged the wrong person by mistake. I’m really sorry.]

I smiled faintly and set my phone down without replying. Reinn’s tactics were transparent to me—child’s play. I resumed packing my things, but tears betrayed me, slipping down my face. I didn’t own much—just a few sets of clothes. Nothing else really.

As I packed, a painful realization struck me. In three years with Shindy, she had never given me a single gift. Once, during the height of our love, I’d cradled her in my arms, playfully entwining her fingers with mine.

“It’s always me pleasing you,” I had teased, “always me giving you gifts. I see other girlfriends surprising their boyfriends, but I’ve never gotten anything from you.”

"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.