Todos os capítulos de His Mate, My Spy: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Silence.The music was gone. The engine hissed and spat, steam curling from beneath the hood like breath escaping a dying animal. Emily’s ears rang, the sound sharp and endless, as the world swam in and out of focus. Her chest burned when she tried to breathe.She groaned softly and forced her eyes open.“Hey,” she whispered, her voice rough. “Hey… are you alive?”No answer.Her heart began to pound. Slowly, carefully, she turned in her seat. The man in the back was slumped sideways, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, blood still spreading beneath him, dark and wet against the seat.Sirens wailed somewhere far away.Getting closer.Emily stared at him, then down at her hands gripping the steering wheel. They were shaking. The metal bracelet around her wrist gleamed dully in the dim light, cold and tight against her skin.Then the man groaned.Her head snapped up.His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Told you…” he muttered weakly. “Should’ve left

Emily climbed the stairs to her sleeping quarters above the agency like someone carrying invisible weight.Every step felt heavier than the last, not because her body was weak, but because her mind wouldn’t slow down. Anger clung to her ribs. Frustration sat in her throat. Knox’s voice replayed itself in her head - calm, controlled, always one step ahead, always holding back pieces of the truth.He had done it again.He always did.He told her one plan, then executed another. Sent her into the field believing she knew what she was walking into, only to change the rules while she was already bleeding. Knox never trusted her fully. There had always been something in his eyes when he looked at her - not fear, not doubt, but calculation. As if she were a powerful tool he admired but never intended to loosen his grip on.Sometimes she wondered if he enjoyed it.Enjoyed watching her scramble. Watching her react. Watching her realize she was never fully in control.By the time she reached th

Damien was standing near the window when Emily stepped back into the penthouse suite. He turned at the sound of the door closing, and his eyes immediately went to her face, then to the jacket she wore, then back to her again. His expression was calm, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that had not been there the night before.“Where did you go?” he asked.Emily did not freeze. She had been in tighter situations than this. Surprise was something she learned to swallow before it ever reached her eyes. She slipped the key card onto the table and met his stare evenly.“Where did I go?” she repeated, as if the question confused her.Damien’s eyes drifted toward the bed. The sheets were smooth. The pillows perfectly placed. There was no sign anyone had slept in it.“It doesn’t look like you were here,” he said quietly. “Where did you sleep last night?”She folded her arms loosely over her chest and let a hint of irritation enter her voice. “Is that what this is about? I couldn’t sleep, Da

(The night of the attack.)The bar was warm and crowded, filled with the low hum of conversations and the steady rhythm of background music that made people feel safe. Glasses clinked, chairs scraped softly against the floor, and the scent of alcohol and fried food hung heavy in the air. Damien sat alone at the counter, a glass of whiskey resting between his fingers. The amber liquid caught the dim light overhead as he turned it slightly, appearing relaxed, almost bored, like any wealthy man unwinding after a long day.He did not drink to lose control. He drank to blend in.The moment the door opened and four men stepped inside, something shifted. Damien did not look at them immediately, but he felt them. His senses sharpened without effort. He smelled metal beneath cheap cologne. Oil. Cold air clinging to their jackets. And something else that made the wolf inside him stir uneasily.Danger.He lifted the glass to his lips and took a measured sip while observing them from the corner of

The ballroom shimmered in gold and crystal light.Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall glass panels before surrendering to the warm glow of chandeliers. Soft music drifted across the room while waiters in black suits moved between round tables dressed in white linen. Laughter rose and fell like gentle waves. Glasses clinked. Cameras flashed.Damien Hayes stood at the center of it all, smiling as though nothing in the world could touch him.He moved easily through the crowd, tall and composed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, his posture relaxed but controlled. People leaned toward him when he approached. They laughed at his jokes. They thanked him for his generosity. Some admired him openly. Others watched him carefully.By his side walked Zoe, his assistant, holding a sleek tablet against her chest. She stayed half a step behind him, professional and alert.“Mr. and Mrs. Callister,” she murmured quietly as they approached a couple near