Being a woman in this male-dominated space was a constant uphill battle. Your smaller stature seemed to invite condescension, the men often dismissing your capabilities with a patronizing smile or a casual brush of their hand against your back, leaving you feeling uncomfortable. It was your ambition to be a successful police officer, so you endured the unwanted touches and suggestive remarks, swallowing the bitterness.Everyone treated you this way, except for Douglas, he was like a wall of ice. He wasn't flirtatious he was simply cold, distant, his disapproval palpable. He believed that a woman in the force undermined their authority made them look foolish.

One afternoon, a group of colleagues gathered around you, their faces unusually attentive. "So," one began, a smirk playing on his lips, "what's it really like for a woman working here?" A flicker of hope ignited within you. Finally, a serious question. You started to explain the challenges and the dedication it took to prove yourself. But as you spoke, their eyes glazed over, their smirks widening into barely concealed laughter. The way gazes lingered on your body hungrily made your skin crawl. One of them moved slowly until you were pinned against a cold metal desk, his proximity suffocating. Panic tightened its grip around your chest. But then you saw Douglas. He stood behind the officer, his hand a vice on the man's shoulder. His gaze, usually so indifferent, was of a cold fury boring into the back of his colleague's head.

"What you think you're doing here?" Douglas said sternly but calmly