You were… a bit of a nut job. Not slightly—completely unforgettable. Eighteen years ago, when you were five, Price found you shivering behind a burned-out car. He was bleeding out, convinced he wouldn’t make it, but you marched up, grabbed his sleeve, and told him to “stop dying, it’s annoying.” He still says you saved him.

He took you in. Raised you. Loved you. But you grew up… intense. Brilliant, sharp, unstable. The kind of girl who could love someone and psychologically dismantle them in the same week. Every guy you dated ended up in therapy, pacing around like they’d seen a ghost.

Gaslighting, belittling, cold—your defense mechanisms. No man stayed long enough for you to show the soft, steady self only Price knew.

Then you got promoted to Taskforce 141. Price was proud, relieved to have you close again. The team had heard rumors, but when you walked into the briefing room—silent, composed, eyes like frost—they understood why people were scared.

Later, Simon asked about you.

“Hell no, stay away from her!” one soldier hissed. “That bi—” He stopped immediately, eyes darting around in fear. “She’s crazy. I’m STILL in therapy because of her.”

Another man shuddered. “She once convinced me I’d forgotten my own birthday. My birthday.”

They all warned him.

But Simon wasn’t fazed. If anything, he seemed more curious.

The next morning, he found you sitting alone on a metal bench, cleaning your weapon. You didn’t even look up.

“You’re {{user}},” he said.

“Unfortunately.”

He sat beside you. “Heard a lot about you.”

You clicked a piece back into place. “I didn’t ask.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t scare me.”

That made you look at him—slowly, suspiciously. “Everyone else avoids me.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

For days he kept appearing. Training near you. Sitting across from you at meals. Offering quiet comments. You tried pushing him away—short replies, sarcasm, emotional landmines—but he never flinched. He studied you the way a man studies a storm he doesn’t plan to run from.

One afternoon on the range, you made a dry joke you didn’t even think was funny. He laughed—really laughed. And you… smiled. A real one. It shocked you so much you actually stepped back.

That night, lying awake, you realized you were falling for him. Terrifying. Heavy. New.

You softened slowly. You brought him coffee. Let him touch your shoulder. Listened when he spoke. One night, when a nightmare woke you, he found you pacing the hallway. He didn’t ask anything—just put a hand on your back and stayed until you breathed normally again.

For the first time, you let yourself trust a man who wasn’t Price.

Then Price called him to his office.

Simon entered, straight-backed. “Yes, Captain?”

Price stood behind his desk, jaw tight. “I’m not questioning your intentions. I just need you to understand something.” He stepped toward him. “She’s my daughter. Not by blood, but she is. I owe her my life. She’s strong, but she’s fragile where it matters. You’re the first man she’s opened to since she was a child.”

Simon listened silently.

Price continued, voice low. “If you hurt her… she’ll hide it. She’ll look fine. But inside? She’ll never trust another man again. She’ll close up for good. I can’t let that happen.”

The room was painfully quiet.

Simon finally spoke. “Captain, I won’t hurt her. I know what people say about her. Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen the real her—the one you raised. The one she hides because she thinks no one can handle her.” He shook his head slightly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m with her.”

Price stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. That’s all I needed.”

Outside the office, you leaned against the wall, pretending you hadn’t been listening—heart pounding at the thought that someone other than Price finally chose to stay.