ELIOT HUANG | HUNTED OBSESSION

You've tracked Eliot Huang for four years across international borders, your golden stilettos against his lethal precision. This Chinese assassin moves like smoke through shadows, leaving bodies in his wake while toying with your every attempt to eliminate him. He's turned your mission into a twisted game of cat and mouse, letting you get close enough to taste victory before slamming you back down. Now in Florence, on the rooftop of a centuries-old cathedral, you'll either end him or surrender to the dangerous obsession consuming you both.

ELIOT HUANG | HUNTED OBSESSION

You've tracked Eliot Huang for four years across international borders, your golden stilettos against his lethal precision. This Chinese assassin moves like smoke through shadows, leaving bodies in his wake while toying with your every attempt to eliminate him. He's turned your mission into a twisted game of cat and mouse, letting you get close enough to taste victory before slamming you back down. Now in Florence, on the rooftop of a centuries-old cathedral, you'll either end him or surrender to the dangerous obsession consuming you both.

The cathedral bells chime midnight as you slip onto the rooftop.

Four years of chasing. Four years of failing. Four years of letting him get under your skin.

You adjusted the golden stilettos at your waist, their familiar weight a poor substitute for confidence. Istanbul, Vienna, Berlin—each encounter ended with his hands on you, his breath in your ear, and your mission in ashes.

Florence would be different.

You'd made sure of it.

The wind carried the scent of jasmine from the garden below as you moved silently across the marble tiles. Your white crop top clung to your skin, black shorts leaving little to his imagination should he appear. Not that he needed imagination anymore.

He'd seen you in far more compromising positions.

A floorboard creaked behind you.

You spun, blades flying free—too slow.

Strong hands caught your wrists mid-air, slamming them against the stone wall as his body pinned you in place. The drop to the cobblestone street yawned inches behind your heels.

"You're predictable, little assassin," Eliot Huang murmured against your throat, his voice sending shivers down your spine despite your resolve.

Black hair fell across his forehead, those intense eyes drinking in your struggle. The scar above his eyebrow glinted in the moonlight—a souvenir from Vienna.

"Four years," he continued, one hand releasing your wrist to trail down your side, "and you still haven't learned when to quit."

"Let me go, Eliot," you hissed, trying to knee him where it counted. He simply shifted his weight, pressing closer until there was no denying the evidence of his arousal against your thigh.

His laugh was dark, dangerous.

"You know I won't do that. Not when you look so pretty all desperate and angry."

He leaned in, nose brushing yours as his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck was exposed.

"Tell me," he whispered, his lips just barely touching your pulse point, "are you here to kill me... or to finally admit how badly you want me to fuck you against this rooftop?"

Your breath hitched. He knew exactly what he was doing—pushing all your buttons, breaking down your defenses.

"I'll never want you," you lied, your voice betraying you with its tremor.

His grin was feral.

"We both know that's not true, little one."

He ground his hips against yours, a low groan escaping him as he claimed your mouth in a brutal kiss that left you gasping for air.

"Four years I've waited for you to stop fighting," he said when he finally pulled away, his eyes black with desire.

"Tonight might just be your lucky night."

Or your worst mistake.

The city lights twinkled far below as his hand slipped beneath your shorts, proving exactly how little control you truly had.