I Was Ordered to Kill My Own Husband

I'm actually a crackshot, but I deliberately missed in front of my husband. He was thrilled to see me miss. He immediately grabbed the gun to show off his marksmanship. He hit several targets in a row, then claimed it was just beginner's luck. My face went dark. Without a word, I snatched up the gun and rapid-fired until the magazine was empty. I hit all eight targets. My husband was stunned.

Which one did she look at? Beginner's luck. He had no idea that I, like him, was a top-tier assassin and that we worked for rival organizations. We were both masters of time management. Whenever I had a job to do, my husband would head to a bar to play cards and unwind. When I got home and took off my coat, he'd walk in right behind me. We'd lived like this for six years without either of us noticing anything unusual.

But then we ran into a problem. We both got the same contract to eliminate a witness in protection code-named Tank. Neither of us realized the other would become an obstacle. I reached the target's location in the desert quickly. I planted bombs all along the convoy's route, ready to take out the target when they arrived. But then, a rickety three-wheeler came bouncing toward me out of nowhere. I grabbed my binoculars.

The three-wheeler drifted and fishtailed, crashing right into the bomb's trigger switch. All the bombs started their countdown. The convoy hadn't entered the kill zone yet. I immediately cut all the circuits. I looked through the binoculars at the three-wheeler again and saw a man pulling a Stinger missile out of it. I knew instantly he was a hitman from the rival organization. I grabbed my sniper rifle and took a shot at his chest. I never expected that man to be my husband.

Luckily, he was wearing body armor. My husband didn't realize it was me who shot him. He immediately grabbed the Stinger and fired it at the hillside. I escaped just in time, but we both failed our mission. My husband, realizing his winning streak had been broken by a female assassin, knew she was no amateur. He found a hacker who traced an address from the laptop I'd left at the scene. When my husband tracked down that address, he found my company name on the nameplate. He immediately sensed something was off. He didn't know I was equally obsessed with the person who'd blown me up, repeatedly watching the footage looking for clues. My husband rushed home to verify my true identity in person. When he got home, he crept in cautiously. I brought him a drink, acting like I didn't suspect a thing. But my husband noticed the bottle of toxic drain cleaner nearby. He dumped the entire drink. Dinner that night was elaborate, but it was a trap. My husband secretly hid a steak knife in front of him, worried it might be used against him. I brought out the roast meat and deliberately scraped the knife across the plate, making an ear-piercing sound. My husband immediately grabbed the knife, pretending to help me cut the steak. He felt danger everywhere, but under my insistence, he put the food in his mouth anyway. When he saw the reflection of a poison bottle in the mirror, he immediately spit out the meat. My husband decided to make the first move. He pretended to get up to pour me red wine. After pouring, he immediately let go.

I reacted instantly, catching the glass. When I saw my husband's puzzled look, I let go, too. We both understood our covers were blown. We both made excuses about going to the kitchen to get towels. We were really going to grab weapons to kill each other.

[music] The three-wheeler drifted and fishtailed, crashing right into the bomb's trigger switch. All the bombs started their countdown. Convoy hadn't entered the kill zone yet. I immediately cut all the circuits. I looked through the binoculars at the three-wheeler

again and saw a man pulling a stinger [music] missile out of it. I knew instantly he was a hitman from the rival organization. I grabbed my sniper rifle and took a shot at his chest. I never expected that man to be my husband.

Luckily, he was wearing body armor. My husband didn't realize it was me who shot him. He immediately grabbed the stinger and fired it at the hillside. I escaped just in time, but we both failed our mission. My husband, realizing his

winning streak [music] had been broken by a female assassin, knew she was no amateur. He found a hacker who traced an address from the laptop I'd left at the scene. When my husband tracked down that address, he found my company name on the

nameplate. He immediately sensed something was off. He didn't know I was equally obsessed with the person who'd blown me up, repeatedly watching the footage looking for clues. My husband rushed home to verify my true identity in person. When he got home, he crept in

cautiously. I brought him a drink, acting like I didn't suspect a thing. But my husband noticed the bottle of toxic drain cleaner nearby. He dumped the entire drink. Dinner that night was elaborate, but it was a trap. My husband

secretly hid a steak knife in front of him, worried it might be used against him. I brought [music] out the roast meat and deliberately scraped the knife across the plate, making an ear-piercing sound. My husband immediately grabbed [music] the knife, pretending to help me

cut the steak. He felt danger everywhere, but under my insistence, he put the food in his mouth anyway. When he saw the reflection of a poison bottle in the mirror, he immediately spit [music] out the meat. My husband decided

to make the first move. He pretended to get up to pour me red wine. After pouring, he immediately let [music] go.

I reacted instantly, catching the glass. When I saw my husband's puzzled look, I let go, too. We both understood our covers were blown. We both made excuses about going to the kitchen to get towels. We were really going to grab

weapons to kill each other.