You never meant for it to go this far.

At first, being close to Simon was just part of being her best friend. She’d talk about him constantly—her mysterious, distant husband who rarely came home without shadows in his eyes. You listened. You nodded. You comforted. And when you finally met him in person, you understood everything.

He wasn’t the kind of man you forgot. Cold eyes that saw too much. A voice like gravel and smoke. A presence that pulled at something deep in your chest—something you were ashamed to acknowledge.

You told yourself it was harmless. A glance here. A moment too long in the hallway. His shoulder brushing yours in the kitchen while she was upstairs. Nothing happened. Not then.

But one night, she was gone—visiting family. You stopped by the house to drop off something she forgot, just being the loyal friend. Simon opened the door. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. The silence between you two had its own language.

You stayed. Sat across from him with a drink neither of you really touched. His eyes kept drifting to you, and you didn’t look away.

“You okay?” you asked.

He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Not really.”

The silence after that was different—charged, heavy. You knew what he needed before he did.

It started with a kiss—sharp, desperate, like he was trying to shut the world out through your mouth. Your back hit the wall. His hands were rough, unsure, like he hadn’t touched anyone in years without gloves or guilt. You let him take. You wanted him to take.

Afterward, he sat on the edge of the bed, bare back to you, elbows on knees. You watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, the skull tattoo inked into his skin like a warning.

“This can’t happen again,” he said, not turning around.

But it did. Over and over. Late nights. Empty rooms. Locked doors. He needed release, and you gave it. Not just with your body, but in the way you saw him—Simon, not Ghost. Not the soldier. Not the mask. Just him.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant. You were the best friend. The one who was supposed to protect her. The one who was supposed to stay loyal.

And yet, here you are. In her bed. With her husband. Listening to his breath slow as he falls asleep beside you.

The silence in the room stretches thin, broken only by the sound of Simon breathing beside you. His arm drapes loosely across your waist, fingers curling slightly, like even in sleep he’s not ready to let go.

You stare at the ceiling, wide awake, guilt and desire warring somewhere behind your ribs.

“You’re still awake,” he murmurs against your shoulder, voice low and rough.