It was evening.
Inside a Manhattan bar.
"Hehe, that joke was really funny."
Leaning her arms on the counter, the woman—her figure fiery but her face disarmingly pure—laughed softly at Lynn's words.
Catherine had only come to unwind, but she quickly found herself drawn to the handsome, sharp-tongued man who had struck up a conversation.
"Oh no, beautiful lady, that wasn't a joke."
Lynn took a sip from his glass, smiling. "A person's life lasts just over thirty thousand days. Instead of wasting it chasing love and romance, wouldn't it be better to focus on enjoying yourself?"
"Oh?"
Catherine tilted forward slightly, her red dress dipping just enough to reveal the graceful curve of her neckline. "You're not wrong," she said with a teasing smile, "but I prefer stories like Romeo and Juliet. To me, that's true love."
Looking at the stunning woman before him, Lynn raised his glass and lightly clinked it against hers. "Reality says otherwise. Making yourself happy is far more meaningful than love."
Then he glanced toward the bartender. "Two more drinks, please."
"No problem."
At his request, the bartender—none other than Natasha Romanoff, cleverly disguised behind the counter—poured their drinks with a faint, knowing smile.
As one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents, Natasha had little patience for the agency's so-called "psychological evaluations" after each mission.
She preferred her own way of unwinding—slipping into different roles and living other people's lives for a while.
Of all the disguises she used, playing a bartender was her favorite.
Listening to customers talk about life, vent their frustrations, or share their small joys—those were moments she savored. They were fragments of normalcy she'd never truly experienced herself.
Unfortunately, after the Battle of New York, too many people began recognizing her face.
As a result, every time she tended bar now, she had to wear one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s electronic masks.
After filling the glasses in front of them, Natasha stayed behind the counter, casually mixing another drink.
"Are you trying to get me drunk and take me home?"
Catherine lifted her glass, her light blue eyes meeting Lynn's in playful challenge. Under the dim lights, her crimson lips looked even more tempting.
"Of course not," Lynn said smoothly, smiling. "That would ruin half the fun. On a night this beautiful, all I want is for you to realize—pleasing yourself is far purer than chasing love."
When Lynn extended his hand, Catherine didn't hesitate. She rose gracefully and placed her hand in his. "Well then," she said with a teasing smile, "what are you waiting for?"
Within twenty minutes, Lynn had left the bar with the most stunning and seductive woman in the room.
Behind the counter, Natasha wiped down a glass, her eyes following him with quiet curiosity.
She'd been working at this bar for over two months—though not every night—and every time she saw him, it was the same story.
Lynn Hall always left with a different woman.
The faces changed, but they were all strikingly beautiful.
The only pattern Natasha noticed was that every one of them had a nice ass, even if the boobs were of different sizes.
Hmm. Did firm asses turn him on, or was that all just a coincidence?
She placed the clean glass back on the shelf and reached for her phone.
Lynn's file appeared on the screen.
"Detective, NYPD Manhattan Criminal Investigation Division..." she murmured.
After glancing through the details, she turned off the phone just as casually.
It wasn't that she found anything suspicious about him—she was simply intrigued by the man who could charm a new woman every night.
...
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, spilling across the room.
Lynn slowly opened his eyes and stretched lazily.
Turning his head, he saw Catherine sleeping soundly beside him, a thin down comforter draped over her, revealing smooth, fair skin beneath.
Thoughtfully, he pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders, then got up, washed, and left the hotel.
Outside, he slid into the passenger seat of a parked car.
"Thanks," Lynn said, accepting the coffee George Stacy handed him. "What's gotten into you today? Buying me coffee out of the blue?"
"Celebration," George replied, starting the car with a grin. "When we get back to the precinct, your new patrol car will be waiting. Which means I won't have to pick you up every damn morning anymore... Lynn, don't you think that's something worth celebrating?"
Lynn leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "Come on, George, we're partners. Helping each other out is part of the job, right?"
"Shut up, you damn bastard!" George snapped. "You sleep with a different woman every night, and I still have to pick you up for work the next morning. I'm your superior, not your chauffeur!"
Lynn, completely unfazed by his outburst, took a sip of coffee. "By the way, that case from yesterday—has it been filed yet? The bonus should be coming in soon, right?"
George gave him a sharp look. "Are you broke again? If you're short on cash, maybe stop booking high-end hotels. You could've just taken that woman home last night!"
"I didn't spend a dime."
Lynn took a sip of his coffee and said casually, "First of all, I don't take women home. What if they find out where I live and start getting clingy? I'm not looking for a steady girlfriend."
"Second, George—have you ever actually seen me pay when I go out with any of them?"
George's grin froze.
Now that he thought about it, ever since he'd known Lynn, that was true.
Those women were the ones who treated him—bringing food, gifts, even paying for hotel rooms.
One of them, a gorgeous woman in her twenties, had even offered him a villa once—just because she wanted to be his official girlfriend.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, George found himself glancing at Lynn's annoyingly handsome face.
A strange feeling—one that suspiciously resembled envy—stirred in his chest.
He quickly shook it off and focused back on the road.
"Huh?"
Lynn suddenly let out a small exclamation, peering out the window.
"What is it?" George asked.
"Nothing!"
Shaking his head, Lynn brushed it off. "Must've been seeing things," he said casually, then asked George to pull over, claiming he needed to buy a pack of cigarettes.
Once out of the car, Lynn walked toward the small convenience store he'd spotted earlier.
At the entrance, a translucent wraith hovered aimlessly, drifting back and forth.
As he drew closer, Lynn noticed something strange—unlike most spirits, this one had no visible color marking its level of obsession. Instead, it was surrounded by several smaller, soul-like shapes—catfish, eels, and other aquatic forms.
It was the first time he'd ever seen a wraith like this.
It looked as though those eel- and fish-shaped spirits were part of its very being.
Pretending to gesture idly, Lynn extended a hand, letting a faint thread of death energy flicker from his fingertip to touch one of the eels.
In the next instant, the eel-shaped wraith lunged forward and bit his finger.
Ayo!
He felt a sharp sting.
Feigning confusion, Lynn quickly shook his hand, pretending to react to an ordinary mosquito bite.
The eel's spectral form retreated immediately, drifting back toward the larger wraith and disappearing into its side.