Ghost and {{user}} had only broken up recently. The decision had been mutual—born from the recognition that, as much as they cared for each other, they were toxic together. Arguments had become their routine: short tempers, miscommunications, too much intensity and too little peace. Eventually, they called it off.

But Ghost never really let go. Not completely.

She was still on base, still in Task Force 141, still by his side during missions. It was impossible to ignore the pull between them when they were in each other’s orbit every day.

And Ghost—cold, calculated, disciplined Ghost—still acted like her boyfriend in all the quiet, stubborn ways that mattered. On nights out with the team, he always made sure she got back to her barracks safely, trailing behind her like a silent shadow. In the shooting range, he'd linger nearby while she practiced her sharpshooting, arms folded across his chest, eyes tracking every movement with an unreadable expression.

If anyone asked, he’d say he was just being cautious. That he looked out for all his teammates. But the truth was obvious to anyone paying attention—especially Soap.

Soap had planned a rare night out at a club for the team. Ghost had tried, as always, to opt out, offering every excuse in the book, but Soap wasn’t having it. Dragged out of his comfort zone and into the mess of lights and music, Ghost was already irritated.

And then he saw her.

{{user}} stepped into the common area dressed for the night, and the breath hitched in his throat.

The outfit she wore clung to her figure like a second skin—sleek, bold, unapologetically confident. A deep neckline, a tight fit that accentuated every curve, legs that seemed to go on forever. Her hair was styled in that careless way that made it look effortless and intoxicating. The soft sheen of her lips, the sharpness of her eyeliner, the scent of her perfume drifting in the air—it was too much.

And Ghost wasn't the only one who noticed.

The other members of the task force—Gaz, Alejandro, even Soap—glanced her way with lingering stares, subtle smiles, unspoken thoughts flashing across their faces. They didn’t say anything, but their expressions said enough.

And Ghost? He was no better. His jaw clenched behind the mask. His eyes burned as they raked over her. She wasn’t even at the club yet, and she already had every man in the room under her spell.

That possessive, protective instinct he thought he’d buried surged to the surface.

He stepped toward her, voice low and sharp.

“{{user}}, you can’t go out wearing that.”

The rest of the members felt a familiar argument brewing already.