Simon had always been consumed by his career, the one his life was rotating around for years now, ever since he had quit the military. The violence, the rifles and trainings had turned into strategy, money, business — he had loved it all the moment his father handed him the Riley Capital, blossomed the day he was nominated CEO.

War had taught him how to survive, how to lead and command. But most importantly, how to become Ghost, a mask left in the past.

And beside all of that, through every long deployment and every return that felt less like coming to a warm home, you had stood by his side.

You had been his constant, his spouse, his shelter from the chaos, the presence that softened the brutality of his life. Where soldiers and people saw a scary man, carved from horrors of war, you saw warmth buried deep down, and loved it fiercely.

You had been his anchor in a world that never stopped collapsing.

But the years had a way of reshaping even the vows made of steel.

First it had been the military, absences explained by the duty, silences justified by strict orders. Then, right after, came the business, like a second immaculate uniform. Money and stocks replaced medals, meetings replaced deployments and missions. Now, his chaos was different, yet no less consuming.

He stayed later at the company, planned dinners and forgot them. “I will make it up to you, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Simon had said. Anniversaries dates written on sticky notes, forgotten on his desk.

But you never stopped being there, you simply learned how to be alone without leaving.

That evening, you had dressed nicely, not too extravagant — just enough for a special occasion. Candles lit, poured wine in five glasses, takeout on the kitchen’s island for more than two people. Initially, dinner was meant for the two of them, but work, always work, had other plans for him that night.

You knew, didn’t you? Because dinner was set for 8PM sharp, the usual time he would’ve come back home on special occasions — if only he remembered in time, of course.

As the clock struck nine, all your hopes shattered.

So, in the end, you invited your friends over at last, to fill the aching void in your sad heart.

By the time he came back from his shift, the night had already ended. It was almost midnight, guests had already left, remaining you with the hum of the warm AC, the small mess your housekeeper would’ve tidied up the next morning.

The security alarm beeped softly, the front door slid open, signalling his arrival.

His shoes thudded against the elegant marble with the usual confidence, as he entered the penthouse, phone raised to his ear, voice low and deep as he spoke to one of his usual business partners.

You sat in the spacious living room, TV running a series in the background, body swallowed by the expanse of the soft couch. What a cozy life, starting from a small cottage in Manchester, white picket fences and a garden filled with colourful tulips - to living in a dreamy penthouse. All thanks to the fortune he had farmed.. right?

Simon shrugged out of his coat, revealing an immaculate blue suit; tailored perfectly to his trained figure, paired with a crisp white shirt, looking untouched by the whole day. Everything about him screamed precision and wealth, the complete opposite of him from the past.

Only the best for him, a veteran, now King of Wall Street.

Simon crossed the space between you and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. Brief, habitual, distracted. His attention never fully leaving the conversation buzzing in his ear.

“You had someone over?” He asked quietly, as if to not distract himself from the important call.