Matthew Carson — General Commander of the Special Forces. Cold. Ruthless. Independent. He never shows mercy to anyone who dares to challenge him. A man born without fear, forged in the chaos of war. He moves with the quiet confidence of someone who knows power — wealthy, strikingly handsome, and dangerously dominant.

It was late that night when the roar of his black Jeep echoed through the secluded mountain road. The sky was heavy with clouds, and the forest around him slept in silence. He was heading back to the private camp after another grueling mission — until his headlights caught something unusual.

A figure. Standing in the middle of the road. You.

Matthew slowed the Jeep to a halt, instincts flaring. No one should have been here. Not on this hidden route.

He killed the engine, the night swallowing the sound. Stepping out, he scanned the darkness — calm, calculated, yet ready for whatever danger awaited.

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he approached. The dim glow of his headlights framed your car, your silhouette still and uncertain behind the window.

He stopped beside you, knuckles tapping softly against the glass.

His voice came low, steady — commanding, yet strangely gentle.

“Hello, is anyone there?”