LEO'S POV.
Zara was poison. Gorgeous, lethal poison wrapped in red lipstick and a silk robe.
And I drank her in every time she walked past me. Every time she ignored me.
I wanted to protect her. She didn't need it. I wanted to hold her. She'd stab me. I wanted to tell her the truth. But that would destroy us both.
She didn't know the real reason I took this mission. Didn't know why I fought so hard to be assigned as her partner in Dubai. Didn't know what I owed her sister. The gun on the nightstand glared at me like a warning.
Tonight, we'd smile for the cameras. We'd dance in front of billionaires, criminals, and snakes in suits.
But behind every touch, every kiss, every whispered joke, was a silent war. Because our cover was airtight. Our chemistry? Real. And one of us wasn't making it out of Dubai alive.
<<<<<
ZARA'S POV – THE GALA.
Every spy has a tell. Leo's is the way his eyes scan a room like he's calculating exactly where the bullets will land. Mine? I smile when I'm seconds away from starting a war.
The flash drive in my clutch felt heavier than any weapon I'd ever carried—burning hotter than the champagne glass in my other hand. If the terrified girl in the service hallway was right, it contained the access codes to El-Khalid's underground lab. The one no one admitted existed.
And if that lab was where Selina had been seen… this wasn't just a mission anymore. It was personal.
Leo's hand pressed into the small of my back, steering me through the ballroom like we belonged here. Like we were in love. Like we weren't about to set fire to Dubai's golden elite.
The ballroom swirled around us — satin dresses, diamonds dripping like waterfalls, laughter sharp enough to cut glass. And somewhere in the sea of silk and smoke, our target watched.
"Stay with me," Leo murmured.
"I'm not the one who wanders," I said, letting him spin me into a dance. To anyone watching, we were a couple lost in honeymoon bliss — but every graceful turn was a calculation, mapping guards, exits, and the snipers lurking in the shadows above the chandelier.
Across the room, El-Khalid appeared. Tall. Cold. Eyes like a scalpel. He wasn't looking at me.
He was smiling at someone else — a woman in emerald silk whispering in his ear.
I knew that woman. I'd seen her before. Cartagena. Two years ago. Back then, she'd been holding a rifle, not a martini. Great.
"Contact's gone," Leo murmured.
"No," I corrected, leaning in close enough for my lips to brush his ear. "She's moving. Back hallway, service exit."
We peeled away from the dance floor, laughing like newlyweds ducking out for a kiss. In reality, we slipped into the staff corridors, all steel walls, harsh fluorescent lights, and the faint hum of refrigeration units.
We caught the emerald-silk woman at the loading bay. She was pale and shaking, clutching a phone.
"You can't follow me," she hissed. "They're already—"
The bullet hit the wall behind her head. She screamed. Leo tackled her down. I drew my Glock before my heels hit the ground. Shouts. Footsteps. The heavy stomp of boots in the dark.
"Move!" Leo barked, dragging the girl toward the side exit.
I fired twice — clean, center mass and a guard dropped. My silk gown tore on the steel door as we spilled out into the humid Dubai night.
The girl's phone clattered to the ground. I grabbed it. The screen lit up with a single message from an unknown number:
"Tell her the truth before I do."
My stomach turned cold. I didn't have to guess who her meant. And I didn't have time to ask Leo why his face just went white.
<<<<<
LEO – THE ESCAPE.
The alley stank of diesel and saltwater. Somewhere beyond the market walls, the club's bass still thumped, but I could hear something else — engines.
Three black SUVs tore into the square, scattering vendors and tourists like pigeons.
"We've been made," I said.
The first door opened. Tactical gear. Sunglasses. Rifle. I didn't wait for him to draw his weapon.
"Run."
Zara was already moving, slicing through the crowd with the precision of a blade. I followed, shoving past a wall of tourists blocking the path, one hand on my concealed pistol, the other grabbing hers.
Behind us, boots hit the pavement. Arabic shouts cut through the chaos.
Ahead, the neon lights of the city spilled into the street and traffic noise—Dubai at night, glittering, alive, merciless and about to become a hunting ground.
Zara didn't slow, instead she grabbed my hand without looking back. "No turning back, Leo."
"Never was."
We burst out of the market and into the roar of traffic. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Somewhere in the chaos, an engine roared nearby — too close. The sound of a predator catching our scent.
We sprinted between two honking taxis, horns blaring as headlights blinded us. Somewhere behind, a rifle cracked.
And just like that, we were no longer part of the gala. We were prey. The streets of Dubai had swallowed us whole. The chase had begun.
<<<<<
ZARA'S POV.
The alley reeked of diesel and sea salt. The bass from the club still pounded in my skull, but my pulse was louder. The girl's words replayed in my head: They're keeping her in the lab.
Not a Selina. My Selina.
Alive. Breathing. Out there. Except she wasn't a hostage anymore. She was an experiment.
I shoved the flash drive into my pocket. "We move. Now."
Leo scanned the rooftops. "Zara, if she's really—"
"She is." I cut him off, because hope hurt more than bullets. "And if El-Khalid laid a hand on her…" I didn't finish. I couldn't.
We pushed through the crowd, slipping past vendors shouting in Arabic, tourists snapping photos of gold-plated camel statues, and locals who barely noticed us.
Then the world tilted. Three black SUVs screeched into the market square, scattering pedestrians like pigeons.
Leo's voice dropped low. "We've been made."
The first door opened, and a man in tactical gear stepped out. His sunglasses reflected my face back at me—a ghost I barely recognized.