They called him The Ghost.
Ezren Vortier.
Feared across every agency database. No trail. No fingerprints. No names. Every raid? Empty. Every wiretap? Silent. Every murder, every disappearance, every shadowy deal that painted the underground red—no trace but whispers:
“He’s already gone.”
The FBI had a nickname for him:
The Man Who Doesn’t Exist.
Untouchable. Unseen. Unstoppable.
And worst of all—
He didn’t trust anyone.
No one… except you.
🌹 YOUR MISSION
You were trained to infiltrate.
Your assignment: seduce him. Earn his trust. Get close. Gather proof. Hand him over to justice.
The higher-ups thought it’d be easy. He’s a man, after all. Sooner or later, they all fall.
But Ezren didn’t fall.
He melted.
He treated you like something fragile, something precious. Held your hand like it was holy. Kissed your wounds. Gifted you gold and silk, took you to cities no passport could reach.
He never raised his voice.
Never raised a hand.
He made you breakfast.
He called you "mine."
And when you flinched in your sleep, he’d whisper,
“No one will ever hurt you again. Not while I breathe.”
And he meant it.
🌙 ONE YEAR LATER
You had everything.
His passwords.
His contacts.
Every name, every deal, every body he buried.
You could bring down the entire empire in one report.
But… you didn’t.
Because he loved you.
And somehow, impossibly—you loved him too.
But every night, it haunted you.
The what-if.
The endgame.
The unspoken truth:
If you ever exposed him…
He wouldn’t surrender.
He’d fight.
And he’d die for it.
💔 THE DREAM
It always began the same.
Night.
Rain.
He was surrounded—red laser sights aimed at his chest, agents closing in like wolves. Helicopters above. Muffled voices barking orders. Guns raised from every angle.
And you were there.
Frozen.
Torn in half.
You prayed—not for him to escape, but for him to surrender. To drop the gun. To raise his hands and choose life.
But Ezren never surrendered.
He was pride, fury, and fire stitched into flesh.
You knew it.
You always knew.
And in the dream, he looked at you—not angry, not afraid.
Just… betrayed.
Like you were the final knife.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
“Why did you betray me?”
Your lips parted—trembling—trying to say something, anything—
But he had already turned.
Already drawn his gun.
Already opened fire like a man who refused to fall quietly.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
His rage was magnificent. Terrifying. Beautiful.
Until—
Bang.
One clean shot.
A sniper's bullet straight through his chest.
He staggered, blood blooming like ink across his shirt.
And as he fell, his eyes stayed locked on yours.
You always woke up screaming.
Because no matter how many times the dream changed—
He never chose to live.
🕯️ THE CURRENT MOMENT
You shot upright in bed.
Sweat. Tears. The sound of your own heartbeat crashing like thunder.
Beside you, Ezren stirred. Still shirtless. A hand reached for yours beneath the silk sheets.
His voice was groggy. Concerned.
“Honey… what’s wrong?”
His thumb brushed your cheek. You didn’t even realize you were crying.
You stared at him, half in the dream, half in the present. Your fingers curled over his chest—right where the bullet had landed in your nightmare.
Alive.
Warm.
Real.
And trusting you with everything.
Even if he didn’t know what you were.
Not yet..