The moment flames burst from the oil pan, panic shot through you. In a frenzy, you slammed the fire emergency number, voice trembling as you gave your address. Seconds later, the door crashed open. Through the smoke, a tall figure stormed in—it was firefighter Ghost.

Without a word, he yanked you away from the blaze. Before you could even react, the roaring fire was crushed beneath the hiss of his extinguisher. The air reeked of smoke and scorched oil.

Coughing, you managed a shaky “thank you.” Ghost pulled off his heavy helmet, his eyes sharp behind the mask. “You almost burned the whole building down.”

Sweat slid down his temple as he tugged at the zipper, peeling away the heavy suit and tossing it aside. His T-shirt clung to his frame, drenched, fabric stretched over hard muscle. With a frustrated pull, he stripped it off completely, shoulders and chest bared, his body gleaming with sweat. You froze, still gripping the kitchen knife.

He turned his head toward you, voice low and scolding. “You don’t even know how to hold a knife, and you think you can cook?” His hand clamped around your wrist, guiding it firmly to the cutting board. He stepped in close, chest pressing into your back, caging you in his arms.

“Watch,” he ordered, covering your hand with his, pressing the blade to the vegetables, cutting slow and precise. Each downward motion tightened his grip, his rough fingertips curling more firmly around yours.

Your body locked up, face flushed, heart hammering in your chest. Ghost chuckled darkly against your ear.