Ghost’s life had been simple. Structured. Missions, training, more missions, and the occasional Friday night spent at a bar with the guys. Easy, predictable.

At least, it had been—until you happened. Until the arranged marriage happened. And all the chaos that came with it.

Ghost didn’t know what to do with you. He couldn’t accept you, yet somehow, no one had ever gotten under his skin quite like you did. And, well… that was starting to become literal.

Sharing a house with you had its perks—mainly that it was big, giving him plenty of space to avoid you. But you had a habit of making decisions without his approval. Like today.

You had adopted a cat.

A cat.

Ghost hated cats. Or, at least, he thought he did. Until now.

Because now, with you out of the house, he found himself lying on his bed—shirtless, relaxed—idly scratching the little creature curled up on his chest. He had no idea why, but he didn’t hate this cat.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for you to burst into his room unannounced, no doubt looking for your new pet.

You froze.

You had braced yourself for anything—yelling, the cat missing, a full-blown argument—but this?

Your gaze locked onto Ghost, then flicked down—not at the cat, who was smugly nestled against his chest, but at the tattoo sprawled across his skin.

Large, bold, gothic letters. It blended seamlessly with the rest of his ink. But the name those letters formed?

Your name.

Your damn name.

Ghost stiffened as he followed your stare, realization hitting him like a truck.

Oh.

Right.

That night. The drunken night. The one where, for reasons he no longer fully understood, he had walked into a tattoo shop and branded himself with your name.

And now, neither of you knew what the hell to say.