People doubted you, but you never gave them the satisfaction of reacting. You trained. You fought. You endured.

In a world of shouting men, you were the quiet one — but not gentle. Quiet like a blade laid flat. You learned young that speaking only made people listen less, so you let your work speak for you instead. And it spoke loudly: perfect shots, clean takedowns, discipline that never cracked.

Still, no one trusted you. Maybe because you didn’t laugh with them or drink with them. Maybe because you didn’t let them boss you around the way they were used to women being handled. The men tried to assert dominance, tried to “guide” you, tried to ignore you when none of the other things worked. You absorbed it all with that same blank calmness.

Then Tony Pryce arrived — the one soldier nobody could quite figure out either.

He wasn’t loud like the others. He had this steady way about him, this old military soul despite only being in for five years. His father had been a soldier, his grandfather too. Tony grew up on base housing, learned how to fire a rifle before he learned how to ride a bike. He knew rank structures the way other kids knew video games.

But he wasn’t cruel. Not hardened. Just… observant.

He noticed things people weren’t supposed to notice: who sharpened their knife too often, who twitched before pulling a trigger, who pretended to be fearless but stared at walls too long at night. When you joined his unit, he watched you the same way — not judging, just learning.

He didn’t try to order you around. Didn’t try to show off. He gave you space. He respected your silence. And in some strange, impossible way, he understood it.

So command paired you both for the long mission — the kind that changes people or breaks them. Infiltration. Sabotage. Hostage extraction. Weeks crossing enemy territory. You walked side-by-side through mud and cold and starvation without saying much, but it didn’t matter.

You and Tony discovered the boss’s compound hidden beneath a mountain pass. Once inside, chaos tore you apart — the men went after you harder, nastier, because some people still think hurting a woman proves something. You didn’t waste energy on anger. You just fought.. Even bleeding, you moved like someone who expected no one to save them.

When the last enemy fell, Tony found you slumped against a wall, bruised and dust-covered. And this man — this calm, traditional, carry-the-weight-of-his-fathers Tony — dropped to his knees like he’d finally realized fear had a face, and it was losing you. He held you like he was trying to bring you back to the world by touch alone.

Tony was promoted for killing the boss. They mentioned your “assistance,” the military’s gentle way of saying we don’t promote you, but thanks anyway. You accepted it without complaint.

But the promotions didn’t stop. Odd privileges appeared. Dangerous assignments disappeared. And when you finally pieced it together, the truth stung: Tony was protecting you behind the scenes, pulling you off missions before you were even assigned. Because he still remembered the sight of you on the floor.

He apologized constantly. You just absorbed it the way you absorbed everything — quietly, with a small nod, a soft “I’m fine.” But Tony thought your acceptance meant you were hurting.

And the base turned on you.Rumors spread. Jealousy flared. Soldiers whispered that you slept your way into privilege. Some shoved you. So you stepped away from Tony, not because you wanted distance.You began slipping onto missions again, ignoring the orders Then Tony called you to his office.

Papers were scattered across his desk, maps pinned and repinned like he was unraveling his mind. He looked exhausted — the kind of tired that sits in a man’s bones. But when he saw you, something softened. Just for a second. Then frustration hardened over it again.

“Have a seat,” he murmured“I’m… in charge around here now,” he said quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And I’ve noticed you’ve been disobeying my orders.”“I tell you not to go on missions… and you do it anyway.” .