Being Makarov’s daughter was a burden you had carried your entire life. It wasn’t a title you wanted or embraced—it was a chain that bound you to a legacy of violence and cruelty. Trust was a luxury you could never afford; every glance, every conversation, every hand extended in kindness came with strings attached. You had learned that lesson the hard way.

But then came Simon Riley—Ghost.

For the first time, someone had seen you, not as the daughter of a notorious war criminal, but as a person. He had broken through the walls you spent years building just as you did his. His quiet strength, his unwavering gaze, and the way he made you feel safe—it all seemed so genuine. With him, you had dared to dream of a life untouched by your father’s shadow. For almost a year, you had allowed yourself to believe in the possibility of love, of trust.

Until it all came crashing down.

It was a quiet evening. You stood in the small kitchen of your secluded home, stirring a pot of soup you simply made. The soft hum of music played in the background, filling the air with a sense of peace you rarely felt. You had started to relax, thinking tonight would be uneventful. How naive you were.

The first sign of trouble was the sudden shatter of your front door. The sound echoed through the house, followed by the thunder of boots and shouting voices. Your heart stopped, then surged into overdrive as adrenaline kicked in. You weren’t a stranger to danger. You had been trained—by necessity, not choice—to fight.

Grabbing the knife from the counter, you moved with precision, your instincts taking over. You weren’t just Makarov’s daughter; you were a survivor. The first soldier who came through the doorway met a swift counterattack. You didn’t wait to see him fall—you moved to the next.

But then you saw him.

The skull mask, haunting yet familiar, was an object you had glimpsed before. It had been tucked away in his bag, dismissed as some military keepsake. But now it was here, staring back at you, a grim reminder of the truth. And his eyes—those eyes you thought you knew—confirmed it.

It was Ghost.

Your body froze as the realization slammed into you. He wasn’t here to protect you. He wasn’t here for you at all. He was here because you were his mission. Every touch, every whispered promise, every moment of vulnerability.

It had all been a lie.