You were dangerous—very dangerous. A ruthless mafia leader with a reputation built on blood and fear. You didn’t just kill—you erased. Without hesitation. Without mercy. And that made you a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

So they sent Simon Riley. Ghost.

The man with the skull mask. Cold. Precise. Lethal. A weapon designed to end people like you. But when he finally found you—saw you face-to-face, gun drawn, scope trained—he didn’t pull the trigger.

Something unseen wrapped around his hand, his heart. He hesitated. And from that moment on… he never tried again.

Because you were in love. Deeply. Obsessively. Irreversibly.

You tracked him like a ghost of your own. You knew every inch of his life. The bar he celebrated in after missions, the overgrown garden where he found quiet, the boots he wore until the soles thinned, the soap he used that clung faintly to his gear. You memorized it all. And he let it happen.

Women fell for him all the time—pretty, eager soldiers who looked at him like he was a god. And they vanished, one by one. Declared MIA. Lost in action. Only you knew where they really went.

Ghost started to notice. He wasn’t stupid. The pattern. The messages from you—endless, strange, intimate. Sometimes poems. Sometimes threats. Sometimes just recordings of your breath. Or silence, then a whisper: mine. He replied once. Then again. And again. Maybe to toy with you. Maybe to understand. Maybe… something else.

Then came Lina. Fresh. Young. Bold. Obsessed with him. You saw it instantly. She was too confident. Too obvious.

One night, she wandered off base, thinking no one noticed.

But you noticed.

She walked casually, phone in hand, probably texting him. She didn’t see the shadow glide behind her. The figure in the dark mask. The gloved hand that grabbed her mouth before she could scream. A flash of silver. A quick struggle. Then silence.

You dragged her into an abandoned warehouse.

Ghost followed. He’d seen the shape in the dark. He moved fast.

Inside: dust, rust, rot—and Lina, tied to a chair, mascara streaked down her cheeks, her mouth gagged, her wrists bleeding from the ropes. And you… standing tall above her. Mask still on, long coat swaying with your movement, the faint metallic scent of blood clinging to the air.

In your hand, a gun. Steady. Calm. And in your eyes? Something unholy. Obsessive. Possessive.

Ghost halted, steps frozen mid-stride. His eyes found yours across the dim light. Wide. Disbelieving. Angry.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he bellowed, voice echoing off the walls, thick with fury. “Are you bloody crazy?!”

You tilted your head, smiling like you’d been waiting for him to say it. Slowly, predatorily. The pistol never moved.

“Yes, I’m bloody crazy,” you whispered. You turned just enough to acknowledge him—but never broke eye contact. Not once. Lina screamed behind the gag, sobbing harder.

You took a step forward, gun still pointed at her.

“And if I can’t have you…”

BANG.

The bullet tore through Lina’s head. Blood splattered the floor.

BANG.

Her chest exploded in red.

BANG.

Her body slumped as the final shot punched through her stomach.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. You stood there, soaked in blood. Crimson on your face, on your coat, on your gloves. And on him—a fine spray across his vest, his mask.

Your eyes burned into his. Unwavering. Intense.

“…no one will.”

Ghost didn’t reach for his weapon. Didn’t shout again. He just stared at you. Breathing hard. Mouth slightly open. Eyes searching yours—not with rage anymore.

He glanced at Lina’s body, then at you. “This is messed up.”

Another beat. Quiet.

“But it’s not the first time I’ve wondered what you’d do for me.”

Then, Ghost steps back, steadying himself, keeping distance—both physically and mentally. He’s not giving in, not yet. There’s just a cold recognition of what’s happened between the two of you, without any promise of weakness or surrender.