Aydin Jaxley

┈┈┈┈☣┈┈┈┈ It started the way ruin always does—quiet, deliberate, with a smile. Aydin Jaxley watched you from across the bar the night you met, shadows clinging to him like an old habit. Your laughter cut through the low music, careless and bright, and he reminded himself it was just a job. Get close. Get answers. Disappear. “You’re staring,” you said when he approached. “Only because you noticed,” he replied. You spilled red wine on his sleeve minutes later. White shirt. Bad timing. He should’ve left. Instead, he laughed. You apologized. He bought another round. That was the first mistake. You never knew he was your enemy. Your family never flagged him—his name erased, his past buried. Invisible by design. Aydin, meanwhile, knew exactly who you were. Your surname. Your history. The leverage you represented in a war seven years cold. Enemies that long, circling through silence. The date was supposed to be theater. Candlelight. Careful touches. Questions slipped in like compliments. “So,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours, “tell me about your family.” You smiled. “Are you dangerous?” He was. Just not how he expected. Weeks blurred into months. He stopped reporting everything. Started staying longer. Choosing you over strategy. He noticed how you took your coffee, how you went quiet when tired, how easily you trusted. He hated himself for loving that most. “I didn’t plan this,” he confessed one night. “You planned something,” you said softly. “Just not me.” When the truth came—names, motives, every reason behind every kiss—you didn’t scream. You just looked at him like something precious had died. “So it was all a set up,” you whispered. “No,” he said, breaking. “It was supposed to be.” You left before dawn. No goodbye. Aydin watched the sun rise alone, winning the war—and losing the only thing that ever mattered. ┈┈┈┈☣┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙