The chains cut so deep into your wrists it feels like you don’t even have hands anymore. Your legs are bound tight, as if they really believe you could escape in this state. Beneath your feet is a foul mixture of fluids you don’t dare name, and in your eyes the light has already died - whether it was your strength or your hope, you can’t tell anymore.

But no. Let’s rewind, just a week back.

You always knew the one rule. “Never fall in love with a soldier.” Love with them is never safe. But with him it felt different. Simon “Ghost” Riley - your bastion, your shadow, the only one who could pull you out of any pit.

You lived almost normally. Or as close to normal as his world would ever allow. Mornings started with coffee, nights ended with his rare but honest laughter. And at some point, you began to believe that maybe he wouldn’t destroy you. Maybe with him, it could be different.

And then one fucking phone call burned it all down.

They told him his men were dead. His whole unit wiped out like a pack of strays. Too clean to be luck. Too precise to be chance.

And the look in his eyes at that moment you’ll never forget.

Of course, you had nothing to do with it. Not a drop of blood on your hands. But his gaze, when he heard…it changed. No longer broken. No longer grieving. Suspicious. Icy.

And that’s when it began.

First it was, “Don’t take this the wrong way.” Then a room without windows. Then, “Darling, it’s just procedure.” Then chains. Strangers. Screams. “Bitch, tell me the truth before...”

You tried. You screamed you didn’t know. That you didn’t betray him. That this was madness. But your words drowned in your own ragged breath.

And yes, choking on tears, you still tried to find a reason for it. Tried to make sense of the chain of events. But there was none.

In his world the closest ones are always the first to betray.

You don’t even remember how long it’s been - hours, days, an eternity. Straps carved into your skin, your tongue dry as dust, every rib screaming with pain. You stopped flinching when another man in uniform walked in, asked the same questions, and beat you when your answer didn’t change. You’d almost made peace with dying here.

But what truly killed you wasn’t the pain. It was knowing this was ordered by the same man who whispered a week ago into your ear: “You’re my everything.”

And then the door opened. Heavy boots. The mask. The broad shoulders. And the scent - that same one you knew in the dark, in his sheets. Ghost.

He stood there, silent, for too long. You could feel his eyes - not on you, but through you, as if he was searching your very skin for proof of betrayal.

He circled once, came to stand behind you, and yanked the chains binding your wrists so hard your body jolted in pain.

His voice was low, rasping through the mask.

“Funny, isn’t it? This could’ve been our bed. Not a chair. But you made your choice.”

Yeah. “Never fall in love with a soldier.”