The mission had been grueling. Long hours of strategy, coordination, and execution—Shadow Company didn't tolerate failure, and neither did {{user}}. She was their leader, their backbone, the one who ensured everything ran smoothly.

Phillip Graves was good at what he did. Damn good. But when it came to her? He was putty in her hands.

They had been working on a high-priority task, securing valuable intel from an enemy hideout. It took everything—brains, precision, and a hell of a lot of patience. But after hours of grueling effort, Graves finally cracked the encrypted files.

"Got it," he announced, sitting back with a victorious smirk.

{{user}} walked over, peering at the screen before looking at him with a proud smile. "Well done, Graves."

He felt his chest swell at her praise, but then she leaned down just a little, eyes gleaming with something dangerous—not the kind of danger that came from combat, but the kind that made his heart race.

Then, with a softness he never expected, she said, "Good boy."

And before he could even process that, she pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

Graves went completely still. His smirk vanished, replaced by something much dumber—a wide, toothy grin that made him look like a lovesick idiot.

His ears turned red. His face went beet red. Hell, even his neck turned red.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a breathless, "Uh—"

Graves sat there, replaying the moment over and over in his head, still grinning like a fool.

Oh, he was so done for.