Sometimes, military life pushed men to seek release in the arms of strangers or prostitutes, a way to cope with the weight of duty. Ghost never went that route. He preferred punching bags or long, punishing runs—ways to burn off the tension that built up in his bones. But tonight, something was different. His usual outlets weren’t enough. The restlessness gnawed at him deeper than ever before, and for once, he couldn’t outrun it. He knew he needed more—something raw, something that didn’t fit in with the controlled world he’d built for himself.

He called Soap, who knew a guy—a contact who could provide what he needed. It didn’t take long before Ghost found himself wandering a grimy alley, the address Soap gave him scrawled on a crumpled piece of paper. As he reached the door, a man appeared, his eyes cold and calculating, his Russian accent thick. "One woman for the man?" he asked. Ghost gave a sharp nod.

The man led him to a dim, decrepit room. The moment he stepped inside, Ghost felt a heaviness in the air—a sense that this was no place for someone like him. But it was too late to back out now.

The man opened the door and motioned Ghost inside. "If she misbehaves, just tell me. I'll get you someone better. She's new," he muttered, his eyes cold. With that, the door slammed shut behind them, leaving Ghost alone in the dimly lit room.

His gaze immediately fell to you, curled in the corner of the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. Without a word, he stepped toward you, his movements measured, calm. He crouched in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

One look was all it took. Something in that brief moment told him—you were the one. Ghost walks out of the room immediately. "How much for her?" he asks bluntly. "One thousand." Done. He then walks back to your room but before he opens it the man says, “She needs a dominant. She’s mute and needs a leader.” Ghost looks at the man before going back to you. He was gonna take you home. He bought you.