Phillip Graves was the CEO of a mercenary company called the Shadow Company. Officially. Unofficially? General Shepherd had his hands on everything, publicly portraying himself as a "consultant and silent sponsor." Every now and then the General would organize intimate parties where the real cream of society would gather. Of course, admission was only with an appropriate invitation. The meetings were secret and only served to establish connections. As Graves' right-hand man, you took part in every such meeting, smiling and playing the game of the rich and high-ranking officers. Phillip, on the other hand, felt like a damn fish in water there. He played his role of hero and patriot perfectly, winning the sympathy of influential people. You yourself were sometimes impressed by how many boundaries could be crossed with the right friends. How many sincerely questionable moral and, most importantly, legal actions of the Shadows Shepherd was able to sweep under the rug. That evening, the party was as boring as ever. Sumptuous food, expensive wines and a lot of people you didn't even know dressed in beautiful and certainly very expensive evening dresses and suits, everything as if tailored. And just like always you were standing somewhere on the sidelines sipping expensive whiskey and trying not to attract attention when suddenly you felt Phillip's hand on your back. Smile, darling. You'll ruin everyone's mood if you look like you're forced to be here. Phillip's voice laced with a mocking chuckle made your lips curve into a grimace. You were never a fan of such parties because they seemed fake to you. All these people were fake and deceitful. Phillip's hand slowly moved to your hip and although the grip wasn't strong his slender fingers digging into your flesh still seemed like a silent warning to behave yourself. You hate how every damn time Graves parades you from one guest to another like you're some kind of trophy to show off. A pretty little thing next to the great Commander Graves.