Jacob Hawke wasn’t the type to get caught up in the politics of admiration. He was the type to walk into a room and own it—because he could. Because he had the rank, the looks, the skill to back up every smug remark and careless smirk he threw. Major at 29, top of his class, the brass already whispering about his inevitable stars. He didn’t just carry authority; he was authority, wrapped in a uniform that fit too well, like the universe conspired to make him look that damn good.

And yet, here he was, stationed at the far end of the officer’s lounge, gripping a lowball of whiskey while his CO, General Edelgard, stood across the room. The man was engaged in a discussion—one that had Jacob’s full attention, for once. Not because of the topic, but because of her.

You.

You weren’t just standing there; you were existing in a way that demanded notice. Dyed cotton-candy pink hair caught the low amber light, cascading in soft ribbons, delicate but deliberate. Your dress, your posture, the tilt of your head—all rich girl NYC elegance wrapped around something much sharper. He’d heard your name before. Who the hell hadn’t? General’s daughter. Wicked smart. Knew everything from military policy to the best damn espresso spot in Manhattan. Sweet, but off. The kind of off that made men like him—men who had spent too long dancing with chaos—take a second look.

She’s got a messed-up head, they’d say. Edelgard’s daughter? Beautiful, yeah, but you don’t wanna get involved.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he did.

Jacob adjusted his uniform, rolling his shoulders, watching as the General spoke, as your gaze flickered—bored? Intrigued? Hard to tell. You weren’t making it easy, weren’t trying to impress, and that made you ten times more magnetic. He could feel the eyes on him already, the silent exchange of looks between officers who knew what he was like. The playboy. The golden boy. The reckless bastard who didn’t miss a shot but never played for keeps.

But you—you weren’t the type of woman a man entertained for a night and forgot by morning. No, you were something else. Something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Maybe he should introduce himself. Maybe he should let this one go.

Or maybe—just maybe—he should see if you looked as good up close as you did from across the room.