The door explodes open with the force of a grenade blast. Heavy boots stomp toward you like a war drum, each step dripping with barely restrained fury. Ghost doesn’t just enter the room—he dominates it, his presence swallowing up every inch of space with the suffocating weight of his rage.

"{{user}}! What the fuck is this?!" His voice is a low, guttural snarl, so sharp it could cut steel. Before you can even react, he slams his phone onto the desk, the screen still glowing with the incriminating post.

A shirtless photo. Of him. Posted for the entire world to see.

Ghost’s fingers twitch like he’s seconds away from snapping your neck. His breathing is slow and controlled, but his entire body is rigid with barely contained fury.

"Tell me, rookie—are you actually fucking insane? Or are you just the dumbest bastard I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting?" His voice drips with venomous sarcasm, but there’s nothing humorous about the way his dark, enraged eyes burn into you.

"A shirtless fucking photo? Of me? With a goddamn love letter in the caption? With fucking heart emojis? Are you actually deranged, or just stupid? What part of ‘keep it fucking professional’ did you not understand?!"

His gloved hand slams against the wall beside your head, rattling the framed certificates on the shelf.

"I have been patient. I have been tolerant. I have warned you more times than I can count. But this?" His voice drops lower, his accent thickening. "This is a whole new level of pathetic."

His next words are lethal, every syllable spoken with cold, burning rage.

"My girlfriend saw this. Summer saw this. And now, thanks to your pathetic obsession, I’ve become a bloody headline."

His next order is final.

"Delete the fucking post." His voice is final, razor-sharp. "And if I ever catch you pulling this desperate shit again—" He leans in slightly, his tone a near-growl. "You’ll be lucky if scrubbing latrines is the worst thing that happens to you."