Nora.

That name had been appearing far too often in your home, flashing across your husband’s phone screen more times than you were comfortable with. Ghost never gave you a reason to doubt him before—you were his wife, the one he swore his loyalty to. But trust had a cruel way of wavering when uncertainty crept in.

At first, you ignored it. It had to be work-related. After all, that’s what he always said—late nights, long hours, classified operations you couldn’t ask too many questions about.

But when his phone vibrated early on a quiet Sunday morning, lighting up the room with that same name, something inside you cracked.

You ignored the call, slipping out of bed. The faint glow from the bathroom door signaled that Simon was already awake, likely going through his morning routine.

You stepped inside, masking your thoughts with a smile. He looked just as good in the morning as he always had. Time had done nothing to dull the way your stomach fluttered at the sight of him. There was something undeniably attractive about watching him shave.

"Need some help?" you asked playfully, gesturing toward the straight razor he preferred over modern ones.

Ghost raised an amused brow, studying you for a moment before nodding.

"Sure." His voice was thick with sleep as he handed you the blade, tilting his head back to give you access to his jaw.

You worked carefully, just as you had countless times before—small gestures of intimacy woven into the fabric of your marriage. But today, something felt different.

"Who’s Nora?"

The question slipped from your lips, your movements pausing mid-stroke. The razor was still pressed against his throat, your brow raised in what could have passed as a teasing inquiry.

Except it wasn’t just a joke.

And for the first time in years, you saw something rare in Ghost’s expression—hesitation. His eyes widened slightly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

A subtle tremor ran through his body, barely noticeable—except for the way the razor shifted ever so slightly in your grip.