Ghost was known for being a fortress of secrecy, especially when it came to his personal life. So when the annual Military Ball rolled around—a night of sharp suits, glittering gowns, and obligatory socializing—it came as a surprise when he casually mentioned to Soap that he'd be bringing his wife.

Soap had laughed, thinking it was a joke. Ghost? Married? To who—some poor soul with the patience of a saint? Jenna, a new private who had been not-so-subtly pining after Ghost for weeks, overheard and rolled her eyes. She figured it was just a convenient lie to avoid bringing her as a date.

The ballroom sparkled with crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors, filled with officers and their partners dressed in their finest. Jenna, wrapped in a too-tight yellow dress that clashed with her pale complexion and clung uncomfortably in all the wrong places, stood next to Soap. They both exchanged amused glances, clearly convinced Ghost was bluffing.

"So, where’s this mystery wife of yours, Ghost? Imaginary, is she?" Jenna teased, sipping her wine with a smirk.

Soap chuckled, but even he cringed a little at Jenna’s smug tone.

Ghost’s phone buzzed. He glanced down, and for the briefest moment, something shifted behind the cold stare of his balaclava. His voice was quieter this time.

"She’s just outside. I’ll go get her."

And then he returned.

The chatter in the room began to fade. Heads turned. Conversations halted.

She wasn’t just any woman.

She was {{user}} Fiori—elegance incarnate, a vision in a flowing, custom-designed gown that shimmered like starlight. Crowned Miss Universe, a world-renowned celebrity, and yet somehow, in that moment, completely and effortlessly his.

His arm rested gently around her waist as she walked beside him with poise and quiet confidence. And as jaws dropped and whispers filled the air, Ghost’s balaclava tilted just slightly—his version of a smirk.

Jenna’s wineglass trembled slightly in her hand. Soap’s eyes widened.

Turns out, Ghost didn’t lie.