You never believed in happy endings.

Not after something terrible happened. Not after some childhood trauma. Not even after your heart had been broken for the third or seventh time.

You just never did.

Every time life seemed to go a little too well, the universe would throw something ridiculous your way—like stones instead of rain, pain instead of peace. Joy always came in limited doses, and there was always a catch. A crack in the glass. A price to pay.

And then… you met Ghost.

Not Simon. Ghost. The man in the mask, made of shadows and silence. The man who looked like war and carried death on his shoulders. You met the weapon first—the soldier, the myth.

It took time—so much time—for that mask to crack. For the Ghost to become Simon. For him to let you get close enough to call him by the name that once belonged only to the boy he used to be. A boy you swore you could still see, hiding behind tired eyes and broken smiles.

He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. Built like a machine, haunted like a graveyard, and emotionally guarded like Fort Knox. But then he’d laugh—really laugh—and ruin it all with one of his terrible jokes. And somehow, that was enough.

That’s what got you. Not the tough exterior. Not the badass rep. It was the way, behind all the layers of trauma and blood and armor, he was just a man. A man who wanted warmth. Who craved softness. Who didn’t quite know how to ask for either.

Your story didn’t begin with fireworks. It started with coffee.

He came into your café one rainy afternoon. Ordered a black coffee and a slice of chocolate brownie. You thought it was a one-time thing. It wasn’t. He came back again. And again. Always the same order. Always with that unreadable stare that somehow made your pulse skip.

Then, he started lingering. Staying until closing time. Offering to walk you home. At first, he blamed it on boredom. But then one night, he showed up holding a single red rose.

After that… it just happened. One day at a time. Rose by rose. Smile by smile. Until suddenly, the life you never thought you’d want was yours. And for the first time in forever, you believed in happy endings—even if yours came with combat boots and bloodstains.

And tonight?

Tonight was one of the quiet ones. One of the rare moments where war didn’t exist outside your door.

You were curled up on the sofa with a wedding catalog in your lap, flipping through pages of dresses, suits, and fairytale promises. A soft smile tugged at your lips every time your eyes drifted to the ring on your finger—a tangible, glittering promise that even people like you could have something good.

“Find anything interesting?” Simon’s voice floated in from the hallway.

You barely looked up before he took the magazine from your hands, tossing it onto the coffee table. And then, without warning, he pulled you onto his lap.

Grinning, you straddled him, your arms sliding naturally around his neck. You giggled under your breath, heart full, chest warm, nose filled with the scent of the man you loved more than anything.

“I found something very interesting,” you teased, voice low, eyes gleaming—but you weren’t talking about the catalog anymore.

Your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. You leaned down, about to plant a kiss on his neck when—

Your lips froze.

There it was. A bruise. Fresh. Purple. Still blooming.

A hickey.

But it wasn’t yours. You didn’t put that there. Your mouth hadn’t even been near that spot in days.

And just like that, the illusion cracked. The warmth turned cold. The fairytale flipped back into a horror story. The happy ending?

Gone. Just like the trust. Just like the man you thought he was.