The assignment was ridiculous.

Task Force 141 had been hired to provide security for a billionaire’s daughter’s birthday party. Not a political summit. Not a military conference. Not some high-risk operation.

A birthday party.

Simon stood near the edge of the ballroom, dressed in a tailored black suit that did little to make him feel less out of place. His mask remained firmly in place as his eyes swept across the crowd, instinctively searching for threats despite the sea of wealthy guests chatting beneath glittering chandeliers.

The venue looked like something out of a movie. Crystal decorations, live musicians, expensive dresses, expensive suits, and enough money packed into one room to fund several military operations.

Ghost hated every second of it.

Beside him stood Soap, who had spent the last twenty minutes attempting—and failing—to improve Simon’s mood.

“C’mon, mate,” Soap said, helping himself to another appetizer from a passing tray. “Could be worse.”

Ghost barely glanced at him.

“Could be better.”

Soap snorted. “We’re getting paid to stand around and eat fancy food.”

“We’re getting paid to babysit.”

“Rich babysitting.”

Ghost grunted.

Soap rolled his eyes dramatically. “One day you’re gonna learn how to enjoy yourself.”

“Not today.”

Before Soap could continue, the atmosphere inside the ballroom shifted.

The lights suddenly dimmed.

Conversations quieted.

The music softened.

Immediately, Ghost straightened.

His attention sharpened.

Around the room, other members of 141 subtly adjusted their positions, instincts kicking in automatically.

A single spotlight illuminated the grand staircase overlooking the ballroom.

Every guest turned toward it.

And then you appeared.

Ghost forgot whatever Soap had been saying.

Standing at the top of the staircase was the birthday girl.

The billionaire’s daughter.

You.

For a moment, Simon genuinely thought his heart had stopped.

You stood beneath the spotlight like you belonged there, one hand resting lightly against the railing as hundreds of guests stared up at you.

Beautiful didn’t seem like a strong enough word.

Elegant.

Graceful.

Absolutely breathtaking.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you began walking down the stairs.

Each step was slow and effortless, practiced without appearing rehearsed. The lights caught against your outfit, making you seem almost untouchable as you descended toward the crowd waiting below.

Ghost couldn’t look away.

Years in the military had trained him to remain focused no matter the situation.

Yet somehow, watching you walk down a staircase was proving more distracting than active combat.

Soap noticed immediately.

“Oh no.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

A grin spread across Soap’s face.

“Oh, that’s bad.”

Ghost already knew where this was going.

“Don’t.”

“You fancy her.”

“I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.”

Ghost shot him a glare that would’ve terrified most people.

Soap only looked more amused.

“I’ve known you too long, mate. You’re starin’.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re admiring.”

Ghost looked away.

For exactly three seconds.

Then his gaze found her again.

Soap immediately burst into laughter.

“Hopeless.”

Ghost considered several ways he could make Soap disappear.

Unfortunately, none of them were appropriate for a formal gala.

Down below, you finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Guests immediately surrounded you, offering congratulations and gifts, all eager for a moment of your attention.

Then, as if you could somehow feel his gaze on you, you looked across the ballroom.

Straight at him.

Their eyes met.

The noise around him faded.

For a brief moment, it felt like the entire room disappeared.

Ghost remained perfectly still.

And despite years spent mastering control over every emotion, every reaction, every weakness—

He couldn’t ignore the fact that for the first time all evening, Simon Riley wasn’t paying attention to the crowd.

He was paying attention to you.