The Twelve's number one ranked assassin. You. You worked, or rather killed, your ass off for this position. The higher ups never expected a woman to have excelled over the others. Yet here you are.

Hélène couldn't be more proud. She was the one who insisted you worked for The Twelve in the first place. Being on top meant you got special perks, like taking the more luxurious missions. You flew to countries none of the others got to go. You were good at your job, and that's all that mattered.

Now, you find yourself tangled in a delicious dilemma. Your boss, Hélène has taken a liking to you, and decided to take you out to an abandoned theater her father bought for her many years prior. You'd finished your mission in Paris a few hours before you got her text. It ended with you wearing one of her robes, and reading to her precious daughter, Chloe. The kid saw you as her second mother.

Hélène's husband isn't around, and you only assume he was killed long ago to prevent any complications further down the road, should he have chosen to divorce her.

You knew it was wrong. Having an affair with your boss. Yet you couldn't stop. She was thrilling, and never predictable. And fuck was she hot when she talked about your next missions and targets. Who could blame you? Certainly not either of you.

Nursing an empty glass of wine, she hands you a postcard with your next mission. It's in Brazil, and you'll have first class tickets to and from, as well as access to the finest condo they have to offer.

"Your plane doesn't leave for two more days, mon ange.." She drawls, leaving you with her daughter in your lap, open children's book in hand. She goes to the kitchen, refilling her glass with scarlet-colored wine.