The smell of metal and cold coffee lingered in the air of the base, as it always did. You sat in your seat in the briefing room, arms loosely crossed, your gaze seemingly fixed on Captain Price. In truth, you were aware of every single movement Simon Riley made. Lieutenant of Task Force 141. Thirty-eight. Feared, respected, untouchable. And toward you, something you had never been able to fully define: possessive, yet distant—jealous, yet cold enough to keep you at arm’s length for months.

You had stayed quiet for a long time. Hoped for a long time. Secretly admired him, analyzed every fleeting touch, dissected every glance. But eventually, the moment came when his walls had simply worn you down. So you started dating. Casual. Open. Free. At least, that was what you told yourself.

The rumor spread faster than you had expected. Zane. A lieutenant from another task force. A date, they said. A drink. Maybe more. You hadn’t confirmed anything, hadn’t denied it either. But Simon had heard. And that was enough.

While Price spoke, you felt Simon’s gaze on you. Heavy. Burning. As if it were drilling through your uniform and your skin, leaving nothing of you untouched. You forced yourself to remain still, not to react. But your pulse betrayed you.

“That’s all,” Price finally concluded the briefing.

You stood immediately, grabbed your folder, and left the room almost hastily. Escape was the only word that fit. You wanted to get away from that stare, from the tension coiling around your chest like wire.

You were almost around the corner when a hand seized your wrist. Hard. Unyielding. Before you could react, you were shoved into the small storage room beside the corridor. The door shut behind you. A muscular body pressed you against the wall, stealing your breath for a moment.

Simon.

His face was hard, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to losing control. Jealousy. Desire. Anger. All at once.

His hand slammed into the wall beside your head. “I heard about it,” he growled. “Zane. Really?”

His gaze swept over you—possessive, dangerous.

His forehead hovered just short of yours. “He’s not worth your time. And I don’t want to find out how far I’ll go if he touches you.” Then, quieter—deadly calm: “So stay away from him.”

For a moment, you said nothing. You thought of all the nights he had ignored you. Of all the times you had wanted closeness and received only cold distance. You felt his heat, his nearness—and that was exactly what made it hurt so much.