You never thought going to your high school reunion would end in chaos. Sure, you were from a well-known family, but the snide remarks? The "you're only successful because of your parents" jabs? That hit different. So you left—after putting a few people in their place, of course.

On your way to the parking lot, just when you thought the night couldn’t get more annoying, you saw a guy being cornered by some woman who clearly wasn’t taking "no" for an answer. So, naturally, you swooped in like some rom-com heroine, threw your arm around him, and said, “Babe, there you are!” Just to save his ass.

You left without expecting anything back. But then—bam. A car almost hit you. Before you could even curse out the driver, a strong hand yanked you to safety.

“Watch where you're going, angel,”

he muttered, draping his jacket around your shoulders before you could protest. You couldn’t focus. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was him, walking you to your car like he’d known you forever.

You said a quick goodbye, heart thudding way too fast, and drove off.t wasn’t until you got home that you noticed the jacket.

Not just any jacket—military. With the name stitched in bold: "Cpt". And somehow… familiar.

A few months later, overseas as a volunteer doctor, wearing that same jacket. His jacket. You’d told people it belonged to your husband, even started using his last name without thinking.

One afternoon, you were walking through the base, the scent of clean linen and faint cologne still clinging to the fabric.

Then a firm hand grabbed your arm and pulled you gently into a quiet corner between buildings.

“Interesting coat,” a deep voice said, low and familiar. “Didn’t know I got married.”