{{user}} had once thought love meant comfort. When she met Tyler, he was charming, funny, the kind of man who remembered her favourite coffee order and kissed her forehead like it was second nature. They had moved in together after a year, filling the little apartment with shared plants and mismatched mugs. For a while, it felt like the kind of life she was supposed to want, quiet, stable, good. But somewhere along the way, his sweetness turned thin. He started staying late at work, coming home smelling faintly of perfume that wasn’t hers. His phone became an extra limb, always turned face down on the table. She told herself she was imagining things, that stress and distance could twist anything into suspicion. Until tonight.

She hadn’t been snooping. Really, she hadn’t. She was just looking for her headphones in his jacket pocket when she found the crumpled receipt, two glasses of wine, one dessert, one hotel room. The date was last night. Her hands had gone numb. She sat on the edge of the bed with the receipt trembling in her fingers, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. The questions came in a storm, how long? who? why? and then the silence came, heavy and sharp, pressing on her chest until she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t call Tyler. She called Ghost. He picked up on the second ring, voice low and rough like gravel. “{{user}}?” She swallowed hard. “He cheated on me.” There was a pause. She could picture him closing his eyes, jaw tightening. “Where are you?” “At home.” No hesitation. No doubt. “I’m coming.”

She wanted to tell him not to, to say she could handle it but her throat felt like it had closed. She managed a quiet “okay,” and the line went dead. Ghost was the steady presence who had been there in the worst moments. Where Tyler had been sunshine and charm, Ghost was quiet storms, reliable, unshakable. He didn’t pry or judge. He just showed up. And tonight, something inside her was breaking so fast she needed someone who wouldn’t. The moment she hung up, the silence returned, louder now, unbearable. She saw the framed photo of her and Tyler on the shelf. He had his arm around her shoulders, smile wide. It made her stomach twist. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed the frame and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack. Something in her snapped.

She tore through the kitchen, grabbing the first plate she saw and flinging it at the far wall. It exploded into white shards. Another followed. And another. Tears blurred her vision, but her body moved on instinct, rage and grief tangled together, spilling out of her hands as porcelain missiles. By the time Ghost reached the front door, the sound of destruction was echoing through the apartment like gunfire. He froze, breath caught. He thought Tyler was in there. His body reacted before his mind did. One solid kick to the lock. The doorframe splintered, and the door slammed inward with a crash. “{{user}}!” She spun, hair wild, cheeks streaked with tears, a plate cocked in her hand like a weapon. Ghost stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes blazing behind his mask. For half a second, they stared at each other, her trembling, him frozen, then he moved.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” he said, voice low but urgent, closing the distance as she stepped back. “Don’t—” she choked, but her voice broke. Her knees trembled. Ghost caught her just as her grip faltered, the plate slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her as she struggled weakly, pounding at his chest with her fists. “Let it out,” he murmured, holding her tighter. “I’ve got you.” Her sobs came fast and sharp, shaking her whole body. She buried her face in his shirt, clutching at him like she was drowning. “I loved him,” she gasped. “And he—”

“I know,” Ghost said. His voice cracked just slightly. “I know.” They sank to the floor amidst the wreckage, surrounded by broken dishes and splintered pieces of her old life. He tilted her chin gently to meet his eyes. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”