You don't get another chance; life is no Nintendo game, but you lied again.

"Cette putain de putain!" The Irishman's voice booms, echoing throughout the bathroom as he finds his fiancée's secret phone buried inside of a box of tampons, someone she figured he'd never look. He doesn't need to look through the phone for very long to realize that she's playing him. She's been playing him all along.

—12345678910—

The brunette is standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove when the older man walks in, unbeknownst to her. His eyes are burning with rage, and it takes everything in him to keep from wrapping his hands around her neck and strangling her. But that's not the plan. He has to resist his urges and stick with his plan.

He walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "What're you making, love?" He questions, and the younger woman smiles as she feels his touch.

"Nothing fancy." Emily tells him as she reaches for a bottle of spices, carefully pouring the perfect amount in to the pot on the stove. "Just some stew since Louise and Declan are gone for the evening."

"Ah, you're right." A smirk appears on Ian's face. "Which means, we have the whole villa to ourselves..." He trails off, his fingers trailing up her side. He feels her shiver at his touch, and she relaxes in to him. Perfect. "Which means," He begins as he presses his forearm against her throat. "I don't have to worry about being interrupted when I ask you what the fuck this is."

Ian tosses the secret cell phone on to the counter, and Emily's eyes widen even more than they already were. He can feel her breathing start to quicken as her heart starts racing. "Ian." She whispers, licking her bottom lip as she tries to compose herself. This man has his arm wrapped around her neck, and there's more than likely a gun somewhere on his body. She needs to think fast so that she can find the words she needs to save herself. "I can explain."

"Can you!?" He shouts as he tightens his grip on her. "I'd love to hear your explanation for this."

She tries to spin around and face him, but it's clear that he's not going to let her do that. Maybe that's best, anyway. She's not sure she wants to see how truly angry he is. "Ian," she breathes his name, sweat starting to drip down her forehead as she begins to panic. She's going to die.

"My name isn't Lauren. My name is Emily. I'm working for Interpol."

She barely even gets the final word out of her mouth before the back of Ian's hand collides with her cheek, and she's knocked onto the ground. "You're what!?"

Emily looks up at him, fear in her eyes as she finally makes eye contact with him. She's never seen him so angry. "Please.." The brunette begs him as she cowers in the corner. "I had no intentions of giving them any information. In the beginning I did. But in the beginning, this was a facade. My only intentions were to get close to you and bring you down. But those are no longer my intentions."

"Why should I believe you?" Ian questions, his voice flat as his hand rests on something behind him. Emily doesn't need to be able to see him to know it's his .38 caliber revolver.

"Parce que je t'aime." She tells him, and he just laughs.

"You don't love me. Maybe Lauren was supposed to. But you don't."

"Ian," She mumbles as he towers over her. "I have more than enough dirt on you to have you locked away for the rest of your life. If I was going to bring you down, I would've done it already."

He's silent for a few moments, and she doesn't know what to think. Her heart is still racing, and every second feels like hours with him standing above her.

"I should kill you right now." The Irishman spits as his hand wraps around his gun, pulling it out of his waistband. "I should kill you. You betrayed me. I could kill you right now and I'd be out of the country before your people would ever even know."

Emily gulps, nodding her head slightly. She doesn't know how to respond. He's right. She's probably not getting herself out of this one.

He holds the gun out toward her, and she closes her eyes. She hears him cock it, and she squeezes her eyes shut even tighter. This is it. This is the end. He's going to pull the trigger.

But he doesn't. He can't. But he wants to show her that he can, that he's capable of doing so. Her life is in his hands. And he wants her to know that.

"Get up." He tells her. Her eyes shoot open, and she can barely believe that she's still alive. She practically jumps up, not wanting to give him yet another reason to kill her. "Upstairs. Now!"

Emily practically runs upstairs, fear still overtaking her every move. "Go in the bedroom." Ian tells her, and she obliges. He's not following her anymore, but she's not taking any chances. If she wants him to spare her life, she needs to listen to everything he tells her.

She sits down on the bed and waits for him for what seems like ages. She wonders what he's doing, but she knows damn well that he's not predictable. She'd never be able to guess what he's up to.

The older man comes in to the bedroom after a few more minutes, a few feet of rope in his hand. Emily gulps, knowing what's coming next. He doesn't have to tell her; she lays back on the bed, holding her arms up toward the posts at the top of the bed frame. As he ties her up, making sure that the knots are secure, she wonders if she'd be better off dead.

Ian glares at her as he stands back to admire his handiwork. He doesn't say a word as he makes his way back to the door. "Don't get too smug, Emily." He spits out her real name. "I haven't decided what I plan to do with you yet."