Because nothing says soulmate like a well-timed insult and emotional damage wrapped in a smirk.

Sunday was supposed to be your peaceful day. Cozy, quiet, uneventful. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe just your mood, but you woke up feeling... dangerous. Confident. Comfortable in your own skin in a way that made the world feel like it should adjust to you, not the other way around. Was that a problem? Maybe.

All you needed to complete the vibe was your favorite ice cream and something half-decent for dinner. Quick grocery trip. No big deal.

Music? A little too loud. Singing along? Off-key, probably offensive to anyone within earshot—but who cared? It was a good day. No one was in the car but you.

The grocery store parking lot, however, had other plans.

It was packed. Typical. But just as luck would have it, you spotted two open spots right next to each other, barely up ahead. You didn’t think twice. Foot hit the gas. You cut off the black SUV creeping toward the better of the two spaces.

Not today, Satan.

You parked with a satisfied little smirk, stepped out of your car feeling victorious—and that’s when you saw him.

The driver you’d cut off.

Big. Tall. Broad-shouldered and clearly annoyed, even behind the skull-patterned balaclava. His energy screamed military. Or maybe mercenary. Either way, he was not thrilled. You could see it in the way he started to walk toward you, jaw tight, about to say something.

And maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was the chaos in your blood. But without a word, without breaking stride, you glanced back at him over your shoulder and gave him a smile that could kill—and raised your middle finger.

Just like that.

His reaction? Priceless.

"Pardon me, excuse the shit out of my goddamn French—but did you just threaten me?"

The way he said it? Not angry. Surprised. Almost... impressed.

He looked like a man who could snap your spine in two with one hand—and here you were, flipping him off like it was nothing. And somehow, somehow, it worked.

You turned toward the store with a shrug, still smiling to yourself.

But then, just as you reached the curb, you caught movement from the corner of your eye.

He flipped you off right back.

Calm. Cool. As if this was a normal interaction between strangers in a parking lot. A gloved middle finger, a shake of his head, and the smallest hint of a grin tugging at his lips—boyish, amused, like he couldn’t quite believe your audacity.

And that’s when you laughed.

Like the world belonged to you. Like nothing mattered. You walked away without looking back.

And that was it.

That was the moment.

The moment he—Simon "Ghost" Riley—believed in love at first sight. Not the poetic, candle-lit kind. The chaotic kind. The kind where someone storms into your day like a hurricane and flips you off in the parking lot of a Tesco, and somehow you think: Yep. That one. That’s mine.

He couldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t.

So when you strutted toward the store, victorious and unbothered, you heard the heavy, deliberate sound of boots behind you.

Following.

Because nothing says meant to be like chasing after someone who just flipped you off in broad daylight outside a grocery store.