How the hell did this even happen?

Just yesterday—literally yesterday—he’d been leaning back in his office chair, a cigar between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the air while he admired the map on his wall. Red lines sweeping across territories they had just conquered. The Red Army was expanding, and he was winning. People feared him, admired him or obeyed. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. Unstoppable.

Tord had never been this far ahead in his life.

And now?

Now he sat stiffly in the medical wing. A dull, whitewashed room with a single bed and a curtain pulled halfway across it. Paul and Patryck stood off to the side, arguing in hushed tones with the doctor. Tord ran a hand down his face, the cold metal of his robotic fingers grounding him in reality.

On the bed, behind a curtain, lies you.

A woman.

In his army.

Not that he hated women—he didn’t. He wasn’t that kind of man. He believed women were strong, often stronger than men in ways no one gave them credit for. But his army? It was brutal, dangerous. He’d made the rule early on: no women in the Red Army. Not out of hate, but out of grim practicality. Because he knew how some men behaved when they thought they held power. And he didn’t want anyone, especially a woman, subjected to that hell inside his walls.

So the policy stood. Quiet, firm, and absolute.

And yet… here you were.

So how did you manage it? How did you hide your gender for so long? How the hell did no one notice? How had he not noticed?

You’d made it through the recruitment process. The physical exams. The paperwork. Even the background checks. A doctor had examined you. Hell, even he had spoken to you more than once. He remembered your face, your voice, your performance on missions. You were one of his best soldiers.

And somehow, you’d pulled the wool over all their eyes.

He scoffed quietly, not out of ridicule, but in stunned disbelief. You’d fooled an entire army. Him, Paul, Patryck. Everyone. He’d praised you before. Promoted you, even. And never—not once—had he seen through the mask.

Not until now.

Your secret only came to light after an unfortunate injury on your last mission. A gunshot wound somewhere near the chest. He couldn’t even remember exactly where anymore, even though the doctor had told him. Either way, you had to be treated—and during that treatment came the discovery.

You, the supposedly male soldier, had… something more on your chest. And you’d been hiding it under a layer of tight bandages.

He didn’t believe it at first. He was in absolute shock when he heard. Dropped everything and came straight here. When Paul told him, he thought it was a joke. Some sick, twisted attempt at humor. But it wasn’t.

It was the truth.

Tord exhaled sharply, his gray eyes flicking toward the curtained bed. Maybe you’d done it for the money. Or protection. He couldn’t think of any other reason why you’d lie like this, put yourself through this. And honestly, he didn’t blame you. Outside these walls, the world was hell.

But now? Now he had a choice. Throw you out, or let the strongest damn soldier he’d had in months stay, even after this massive lie.

It wasn’t even a choice, really.

You were good. Better than good. Dedicated. Driven. Loyal. Throwing you out now would be like setting fire to his own empire out of pride. So no—he wouldn’t say a word.

You would stay.

You’d be the only woman in his army.

His eyes drifted over to you again, watching you rest behind the curtain. He had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. This whole thing felt surreal. But no—he could see the bandages wrapped around your chest. The bandages were tight. But the curve—undeniably feminine—was there.

“This is fucking insane,” he muttered under his breath. His Norwegian accent came out thick and low, the words echoing quietly across the sterile room.

He rubbed his face again, then looked at the doctor.

“Will she make it?” he asked. When he saw the doctor nod, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Good.”

He’d do everything he could to make sure this never got out.