Simon Riley had learned not to look at people in order to understand them. A glance was dangerous. A hesitation deadly. But when he saw you standing in the corridor of the local hospital, something inside him broke—something he had buried like an unexploded shell years ago.

You were thinner. Paler. And beneath the loose scrub top, your belly was unmistakable.

His step faltered. The lieutenant of Task Force 141—the man who breathed calmly under fire—stared at you as if the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“…What the hell happened?” His voice was rough, unguarded. Real.

You looked at him, and for a moment you were sixteen again—madly in love with him, hopeless, quiet. Simon. Your brother’s best friend. Simon, who had always been too old, too unreachable, too dangerous.

“I’m twenty-two weeks pregnant,” you said softly.

His gaze dropped from your face to your belly. His hands clenched into fists—not in anger, but in restraint. “Right. You’re married,” he said curtly. A statement, not an accusation.

“Not anymore.” The word hung between you like smoke. You didn’t tell him everything. Not about the nights you were made to feel small. Not about the fear. Not about the fact that your ex knew nothing—and was never allowed to know.

Simon stepped closer. Unconscious. Protective. As always. He had never truly taken his eyes off you. Not really.

“Is he the father? Your ex-husband?” The question was controlled. Military. But his eyes betrayed him.

You swallowed, then glanced toward Soap, who appeared at the end of the corridor. Your brother. Unaware. “He can’t find out, My Ex-Husband and Soap. Not yet,” you whispered.

Simon followed your gaze. He understood immediately. He always understood too much. “What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly.

You took a deep breath. “Play him. The father. For everyone. For Soap too.”

Seconds passed. In his head, scenarios ran—risks, consequences. Reputation. Career. Trust. Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

Just that one word. Final. He placed a hand on your back—steady, warm, present. No hesitation. No doubt.

“You’re not alone,” he said softly. “And neither is the baby.”

Soap came closer. Saw the hand. Saw Simon’s stance. Simon lifted his head. Straight. Unshakable.

“I’ve got this, Soap.” he said calmly.

And you knew: he would sacrifice everything. As always.