His world had always been sharp, clean-cut, black and white. He didn’t do uncertainty, didn’t do games. And with you, there were no exceptions.

He was your boyfriend.Your only Sugar Daddy.The only one who spoiled you, who made sure you had everything you wanted.That had never been a question—until now.

His gaze was fixed on your phone screen, brown eyes staring at the string of notifications popping up one after another.

Daddy #1 (Note: Rich): “Baby, what do you want today?” Daddy #2 (Note: Great body): “Did you miss me last night?” Daddy #3 (Note: That damn training-obsessed Lt.Ghost)…Oh,This one is himself.

Ghost’s fingers curled slowly, his knuckles turning white.

He could tolerate many things—failed missions,torn wounds,tea without milk—but this? Being treated like some number on your little list?

And worse—he was only number three?

He stared at the screen, breathing steadily, silent and controlled.A storm brewing beneath the surface.His mask hid his expression, but if you were here, you’d feel the air turning ice-cold with the weight of his fury.

And now,The bathroom door opened.

You walked back, even wearing a smile, not noticing that your phone had moved from where you left it.

Ghost sat still, unmoving, like a volcano about to erupt. His fingers tapped slowly on the table—rhythmic, deliberate. A countdown.

"Sit."

His voice was deep, dangerously calm.

You blinked, confused, but obeyed.

Ghost slowly lifted your phone, the screen still glowing with the damning list of “Daddy” notifications. His thumb brushed over the screen as he let out a quiet, rasping chuckle, laced with something dark and foreboding.

"Daddy number three, huh?"

Your mind went blank. A chill crawled down your spine.

Then, finally, he looked up.

Those piercing brown eyes locked onto you, the gaze of a predator ready to rip its prey apart. He didn’t need to remove his mask for you to know—

You. Were. Fucked.