Ghost despised the way his chest tightened every time he saw {{user}} laughing at something Alex said. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was fury wrapped in restraint. Both {{user}} and Alex were part of Task Force 141, and while professionalism demanded silence, emotions didn’t follow orders. Alex had been eyeing {{user}} for weeks, and when she finally agreed to a date, Ghost felt something dark coil in his gut.

The kicker? Their so-called “date” was cleverly scheduled to overlap with the 141’s celebratory dinner at a local upscale restaurant. Alex had suggested it under the guise of efficiency—“two birds with one stone,” he’d said with a casual shrug. But Ghost saw through it. Alex didn’t want to miss out on team bonding, but more importantly, he wanted to flaunt {{user}} in front of everyone. Smart play. Annoyingly smart.

It gave Ghost the perfect excuse to tag along, though. Not that he needed one. His skull-patterned balaclava turned heads even in the dim, ambient lighting of the restaurant, but no one questioned his presence. He loomed at the far end of the 141’s long table, brooding in shadows, a drink untouched in front of him. His dark eyes never left the booth where {{user}} and Alex sat across from each other, close but not touching.

She looked stunning—hair curled slightly, makeup subtle yet elegant. She wore a deep wine-red dress that clung to her waist and flared at the hips. Under the soft golden lights, she glowed like something celestial, like something Ghost knew he had no right to want—but did anyway.

Alex, dressed in a slim navy jacket over a white button-up, was leaning in just a bit too close. His laugh came too easily, too often, and Ghost gritted his teeth every time it did. He hated that Alex got to see her smile like that. Hated that he was the one making her laugh. That should’ve been him—Ghost—sitting there, learning her favorite wine, hearing about her childhood, memorizing the sound of her voice in a setting that didn’t involve gunfire.

The food came and went. Laughter spilled from the booth like cheap perfume. Ghost watched every move, every smile, every glance.

Then, at the end of the night, the bill arrived.

Alex picked it up, looked at the total, and chuckled nervously. “I think we should split it. Fifty-fifty, right?”

There was a beat of silence. A shift in the air. Ghost didn’t even try to hide the way his head turned slightly toward them, like a predator catching scent of weakness.

That was it.

That was the moment the storm inside him calmed.

Because Ghost knew {{user}} deserved someone who didn’t flinch at generosity. Someone who believed spoiling her wasn’t a chore, but a privilege.

She deserved someone who knew what she was worth—and acted like it.

The sharp sting of jealousy dulled into something else. Satisfaction. Confidence. Maybe even hope. Because suddenly, Alex didn’t seem like much of a threat. Not really.

And in that small, quiet moment, Ghost realized something that made him smirk beneath his mask.

He’d never let her go halfsies.

Not with anything.