CHARLIE STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR, THE RED DRESS DRAPED OVER THE BACK OF HER CHAIR. She stared at her reflection, dreading the evening ahead. Johnny and his damn ego, she thought, pulling her hair up into a neat bun. She hadn't wanted to go to this dinner—she didn't even like sushi—but her job wasn't about what she liked. It was about keeping him alive, despite his constant need to play with danger.

With a sigh, she stepped into the red dress, the silky material sliding over her skin, clinging in all the right places. It was elegant but simple, exactly the kind of outfit that would grab attention without being too flashy. Johnny will love this, she thought bitterly. Not that it mattered. She wasn't dressing up for him, but rather to blend in with the upscale crowd. A necessary facade.

As she began applying her makeup, her phone buzzed on the vanity, the screen lighting up with a name that sent a chill down her spine: Victor. Her hand hesitated for a moment before she picked it up, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Charlie, how's it going?" Victor's voice was warm, almost too friendly, which instantly put her on edge.

She paused mid-swipe of her eyeliner, her muscles tensing. "Fine," she replied shortly, her voice clipped. "What do you want?"

"I heard you and Johnny were at the derby earlier," Victor said, his tone calm, almost casual. "I hope it went smoothly."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at her reflection. Victor rarely asked about the little details, especially not in a nice, conversational way. It wasn't his style. "It went fine," she said, her suspicion growing. "He made his usual rounds, showed off, did a stupid stunt, and almost got himself killed. The usual."

"Johnny being Johnny," Victor replied with a chuckle that didn't sit well with her. "You better be keeping a close eye on him. After all, that's what you're there for, right?"

Her jaw tightened, annoyance bubbling up again. "Yeah, I'm keeping an eye on him," she muttered, standing up to adjust her dress in the mirror. "But he's a walking disaster waiting to happen. It's like every decision he makes is the dumbest one possible. And I'm the one who has to clean up his mess. You know how exhausting that is?"

Victor's laugh was softer this time, but there was an edge to it that made her stomach flip. "Oh, I know, Charlie. But remember—keeping him alive is your job. And we had a deal, didn't we?"

Charlie's hand froze as she reached for her lipstick, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of his words settled over her like a dark cloud. The deal. It was always there, hanging over her head like a noose. She was bound to it, to him, and there was no way out.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "I know the deal, Victor. I haven't forgotten."

"Good," he said, his tone dropping to something colder. "Because if anything happens to him, you know the consequences."

Charlie's heart raced as she finished applying her lipstick, her hand trembling slightly. She didn't need Victor to remind her of the stakes—she lived with that pressure every day. She was supposed to protect Johnny, no matter how reckless or idiotic he acted. But Victor's casual reminder felt more like a threat this time, and it made her skin crawl.

"I won't let anything happen to him," she said, her voice firm but her nerves betraying her. "He's fine."

"Just make sure he stays that way," Victor said smoothly, before ending the call.

Charlie set the phone down and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was flawless, her hair perfect, but inside she felt the tension rising, curling around her like a snake. Victor was right—Johnny was her responsibility. But how long could she keep him alive when he seemed so determined to self-destruct?

She took a deep breath, smoothing the front of her dress. Get through tonight, she told herself. Just get through tonight.

But deep down, she knew that wouldn't be enough. Not with Victor watching. And not with Johnny constantly testing the limits of her control.

As she slipped on her heels, the weight of the evening settled heavily on her shoulders. She didn't have time to be nervous—she had a job to do. And no matter how much Johnny annoyed her, she couldn't afford to fail. Not with Victor waiting for her to slip up.

Charlie's phone buzzed again, and she glanced down at the message. Johnny: I'm outside.

Her brows knitted in confusion as she grabbed her clutch and made her way toward the window. How the hell did he know where she lived? She peeked through the blinds and, sure enough, there he was—parked outside, leaning back in the driver's seat of his sleek sports car, honking the horn like a teenage delinquent.

"Get in, loser, we're eating sushi!" he yelled out the window, his grin stretching wide as he leaned on the horn again.

Charlie sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed her keys. How does he know where I live? That question stuck in her mind as she made her way downstairs, the sound of his honking continuing to irritate her the whole way down.

She stepped outside, and as soon as Johnny saw her in the red dress, he froze for a second, taking little, quick peeks at her from the corner of his eye. He tried to play it off like he wasn't looking, but she caught him—every time he glanced at her, his eyes darted away the second she met his gaze. He looked... almost embarrassed, but Johnny being Johnny, he wasn't going to let it show for long.

Charlie approached the car, seeing that he made no move to open the door for her. She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath as she opened it herself and slid into the passenger seat.

"You know, if we're going to do this, I need you to at least be chivalrous," she said, closing the door and settling into her seat.

"Why?" Johnny asked, shooting her a side glance with a lazy smirk. "You have hands."

She sighed, biting back the urge to snap at him. Of course, he'd say something like that. Instead of responding, she leaned her head back against the headrest, quiet and reserved, not in the mood for another one of Johnny's antics. The tension from Victor's call still hung over her, making it hard to fully relax. She didn't trust anyone at this point, especially not Johnny.

He, on the other hand, was in full Johnny mode, blasting loud music and shouting the lyrics at the top of his lungs. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he swerved around corners, and every few minutes, he'd punch the air like he was on stage at a concert. Rowdy as ever, he seemed completely oblivious to her mood—or maybe he just didn't care.

Charlie stared out the window, tuning him out as best she could, but the volume of his singing made that nearly impossible. His carefree energy grated against her nerves, and for a moment, she wondered how he could be so reckless and oblivious, while she had the weight of a deal with Victor looming over her.

The car zoomed through the streets, and Charlie kept her focus outside, willing herself to get through the night. She needed to stay sharp, stay three steps ahead of Johnny, as always. But as his voice filled the car, as carefree and loud as ever, it became painfully clear that tonight would be anything but easy.

🔥

As Johnny pulled up to the restaurant, the flashing lights of paparazzi cameras and the high-pitched screams of fans waiting outside immediately hit them. The crowd, packed around the entrance, snapped pictures as they saw the pair pull up, eager to capture Johnny Storm with yet another mystery woman.

Johnny adjusted the rearview mirror, checking his appearance one last time. He ran a hand through his hair, flashing himself a confident grin before stepping out of the car. Without missing a beat, he rounded the car and unlocked her side with a smooth click, reaching his hand out for her.

Charlie raised an eyebrow but took his hand, gracefully stepping out of the car. As their hands touched, she leaned in and whispered, "So, you do know chivalry after all."

Johnny smirked, leaning down just enough to whisper back, "Only for the cameras, baby."

As Charlie stepped out of the car, the blinding flashes of the paparazzi's cameras engulfed her. The incessant clicking of shutters filled the air, each camera hungry to capture the perfect shot of Johnny Storm with his date. The lights were overwhelming, and for a moment, she squinted against the brightness, finding it difficult to even see who was around them or how close people were getting. Every few steps, someone would shout Johnny's name, followed by rapid bursts of light as more pictures were snapped.

Johnny, of course, soaked it all in, flashing his trademark grin to the cameras, waving, and even winking at a few fans who screamed his name like he was a rock star. He held Charlie's hand a little tighter, pulling her closer as they walked toward the restaurant entrance, though she could feel the showmanship in his grip. It wasn't for her—it was for them. 

She, on the other hand, kept her stoic demeanor, giving nothing to the press but the occasional polite smile. Internally, she was scanning the scene, watching the chaos unfold, wondering who might try to get too close. Her eyes darted around, still half-annoyed with Johnny's reckless behavior and his complete obliviousness to potential threats.

The sushi restaurant ahead, "Tsukiyomi's," was a high-end spot that matched Johnny's taste for the extravagant. The sleek exterior boasted dark wood paneling and a glowing minimalist sign, while the large windows offered a glimpse of the chic, intimate interior. Inside, the dim lighting cast a warm amber glow over the stylish decor—low-hanging lanterns, sleek black tables, and a long, pristine sushi bar where chefs worked diligently with precise skill. 

The walls were adorned with delicate, hand-painted murals of cranes and cherry blossoms, giving the space a serene, yet luxurious atmosphere. The scent of fresh fish and sake floated through the air, and the soft hum of conversation created a calm contrast to the frenzy outside.

As they stepped through the doors, the noise and chaos of the paparazzi were left behind, though Charlie remained on edge. Johnny, however, seemed to relax immediately, flashing a charming smile at the hostess, who blushed in response.

As they entered Tsukiyomi's, a sleek male waiter quickly approached them, offering a warm smile. His gaze lingered a little longer on Charlie than it did on Johnny, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even admiration. He pulled out a chair for her, his gestures polite and smooth. Charlie, feeling his eyes on her, muttered a quiet, "Thank you," before sitting down, keeping her expression neutral.

Johnny, always the observant one, clocked the waiter's attention immediately. As they both settled in, the waiter took their drink orders—sake for Johnny, water for Charlie—and all the while, Johnny couldn't help but notice how the guy kept glancing back at her. The moment the waiter walked off, Johnny leaned forward, smirking.

"Did you see that?" he asked, his tone playful.

Charlie gave him a look that suggested she knew exactly what he was referring to but didn't care to acknowledge it. "Yeah, I saw it," she muttered.

Johnny grinned, tilting his head in amusement. "So, not interested then?" He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, the teasing evident in his eyes.

Charlie sighed, "No. I'm not interested."

Johnny's smirk widened, and before she could continue, he cut in with, "Of course not, because you're here with your boyfriend." He emphasized the word "boyfriend" with a playful wink, his voice dripping with false seriousness.

Charlie shook her head, visibly unimpressed with his antics. "That's not why."

"Wait, hold on," Johnny said, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "You're telling me—Charlie, the badass, KGB-trained assassin—doesn't do relationships?" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart as if deeply offended. "What, a former assassin sucks at something? That's new."

His lighthearted teasing hit a nerve. Charlie's expression shifted, her body tensing. She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing just enough to make her discomfort clear. "Shut up, Johnny," she muttered, her voice low, but carrying weight.

Johnny's laughter died down immediately, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No more jokes." He tilted his head, genuinely curious now, his tone shifting from playful to serious. "But... is that why you can't care about people?"

Her stomach tightened. This was territory she didn't want to wade into—not here, not with him. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice stiff.

Johnny leaned forward, lowering his voice, his playful demeanor fading. "Do you remember that night? The night I—" He gestured vaguely, clearly uncomfortable. "The night I was drunk, and we talked. About... pushing people away, I guess."

Charlie's heart skipped. Of course, she remembered. She had hoped he didn't. It was one of those rare moments when the walls came down, and she had let slip more than she intended to. She hadn't expected Johnny, of all people, to bring it up.

"Yeah, I remember," she said cautiously.

Johnny nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "I wasn't that drunk, you know. I remember what you said. You said caring about people is dangerous. That it gets you hurt. And you told me that's why you keep your distance."

Charlie looked away, suddenly feeling exposed. She didn't want to have this conversation, especially not here, not when her guard was down. "I was just talking," she muttered.

"No, you weren't," Johnny pressed, his voice soft but persistent. "You were being real, Charlie. And I get it now. You're good at so many things, but when it comes to people, to letting them in, that's where you draw the line. It's not because you don't want to—it's because you're scared."

Charlie was taken aback, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened slightly as Johnny's words sank in. Being the voice of reason wasn't a role she was used to—she was the one people feared, the one who kept everyone at arm's length. But hearing him speak so earnestly, telling her she was scared to let people in, caught her completely off guard. She hadn't expected him to see her so clearly, to call her out in such a way that made her feel exposed.

She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for a response, but nothing came. Instead, she just stared at Johnny, unsure how to react. His gaze was unwavering, though something flickered behind his eyes—an emotion she couldn't quite place. Then, he bit his lip, his expression unreadable for a moment, as if he, too, was trying to figure out where this was all coming from. The air between them seemed to shift, thickening with a tension that wasn't laced with their usual banter or annoyance. This was something different.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Johnny was speechless. He just looked at her, studying her face as if trying to understand her, trying to gauge her reaction. Finally, after a few beats of silence, he spoke, his voice quieter now, almost serious in a way she wasn't used to hearing from him.

"I trust you."

Charlie's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but Johnny cut her off, his words tumbling out before she could.

"Earlier today," he began, glancing down for a second before meeting her eyes again, "I proved you wrong. I proved that the hard and intimidating Charlie—who's always so closed off—actually has a heart. And you do care about me."

Her stomach twisted at the thought, a hollow ache settling somewhere deep in her ribs. It was safer this way—keeping people at arm's length, letting them believe she was cold, distant, untouchable. But Johnny... Johnny wasn't letting her get away with that.

"We can fight about it. We can argue all night if you want," he said, his tone soft but insistent. "Or you can save your breath and just accept the truth."

Charlie blinked, trying to process what he was saying. Accept the truth? The truth was something she rarely let herself confront, especially when it came to caring about people. She had been taught that caring led to vulnerability, and vulnerability was a weakness she couldn't afford.

"I don't know much about your past," Johnny continued, his voice steady, though his gaze was searching, "but I don't need to. I don't need to know all the details about why you push people away or why you think caring is a bad idea. But I do know this: I trust you."

Charlie's heart pounded in her chest, his words cutting through her defenses in a way she hadn't expected. Trust. It was such a simple word, but hearing Johnny say it—hearing him admit that he trusted her, of all people—made her feel something she wasn't ready to acknowledge. 

Vulnerability. 

The word hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. Vulnerability. It wasn't something Charlie allowed herself to feel—not anymore. It crept in like smoke under a locked door, suffocating and impossible to ignore, no matter how tightly she tried to shut it out.

Johnny's gaze stayed on her, steady and searching, but not demanding. He wasn't pushing her for answers or forcing her to meet him halfway. He was just... there. His blue eyes were softer than she'd ever seen them, lacking the usual mischief and cocky bravado he so often carried like armor.

It was almost unbearable.

Her chest felt tight, and her throat burned with words she couldn't force out. The walls she had spent years constructing, carefully layering brick by brick, were trembling under the weight of another single word: trust.

Charlie had been trusted before—by teammates, by handlers, by people who called her "asset" instead of her name. But trust, in her world, was conditional. Fragile. A tool to be weaponized or broken. Trust had gotten people killed. Trust had gotten Evan killed.

She squeezed her eyes shut for the briefest moment, just long enough to push the image of him away. His warm smile, the way his voice softened when he said her name—it was too much. It was always too much.

When she opened her eyes again, Johnny was still watching her, but he wasn't impatient. His brows were drawn slightly, his lips pressed into a faint line, but there was no expectation in his expression. Only patience.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tried to process what he had said, how he had said it, and how it was still echoing in her head.

"I trust you."

It wasn't a joke. It wasn't casual. It was real, and it was raw, and it cut through her defenses in a way she wasn't prepared for.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her arms crossing over her chest like she could physically shield herself from his words, from his sincerity. But it didn't work. Nothing worked.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her voice had abandoned her, lost somewhere in the chaos of her mind.

Johnny seemed to realize that she wasn't going to respond—not now, at least. But instead of pushing, instead of filling the silence with another joke or trying to force her hand, he just leaned back slightly, giving her space.

His gaze softened even more, and the faintest smile touched the corner of his lips. Not his usual smirk—not something cocky or self-assured. It was quieter, smaller, like he was letting her know that it was okay. That she didn't have to have all the answers right now.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn't heavy. It wasn't suffocating. It was just... there.