Simon Riley — Ghost. Lieutenant, always in control, always unreadable. To most, he was stern, cold, and terrifying. He kept his distance, never allowing anyone too close. Even you. Especially you.

From the beginning, Ghost swore he hated you. You were cocky, too sure of yourself, never bowing under his glare like the others did. You joked about him, mocked the mask, poked at scars you didn’t understand. To him, you were reckless — and unbearable.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because in truth, what unsettled Ghost wasn’t hate. It was something he couldn’t process. Something far more dangerous: the way you got under his skin. The way he noticed you. The way he cared when he swore he shouldn’t.

But Ghost didn’t know how to care. Not anymore. Love — if that’s what it was — had twisted in him, tangled up with years of pain and loss until he couldn’t tell the difference between wanting someone close and wanting them to suffer like he did.

So now, he had you in the snow. No jacket. Just thin clothes, boots crunching against the ice as you shivered. The world was asleep, silent but for the hiss of the wind. He was warm, layered in gear, while you shook before him.

When you opened your mouth to complain, his gloved hand shot forward, gripping your chin with bruising force. His eyes were fire beneath the mask.

“I’ve gone through something.” His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged over steel. He shoved you back, forcing you to look up at him. “1855 days. You hear me? That’s how long I lived in hell. And you—” His words caught, his jaw locking, as if the rest refused to leave his throat.

He stepped closer, arms crossing over his chest, towering over you. You retreated a step, but his presence followed, pressing in like a storm.

“You make me feel things I shouldn’t,” he rasped finally, each word strained as though dragged out of him against his will. “I don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know how to want someone without breaking them.”

And then, with a sudden shove, he sent you sprawling onto the barely visible running track beneath the snow. The cold bit into your skin, stealing your breath, the night air heavy and merciless.

Ghost loomed above, shadowed and unyielding. “Now run.” His tone was sharp, but under it was something else — something almost desperate. “Run, before I show you what it means to love a man like me.”