Dark hair framed his face, slightly tousled, with strands brushing the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were a deep crimson—unnatural, like fresh blood under sunlight—and a faint scar cut through his right brow, trailing down to the edge of his cheek. But the rest of him—those aristocratic features—belonged more to a noble than an assassin.
A face that, even with the scar, was beyond mesmerizing.
He was certainly beautiful. In a dangerous, devastating way.
"Cerberus," he said, voice low. "That's the name you know everyone knows me by. But I suppose you've earned the right to see the man behind it."
Silver met his gaze, unflinching, and a smirk formed on her lips. "So this is what you look like."
"Disappointed?"
She shook her head once. "Only surprised."
He smirked faintly. "That's a first."
