No one knew who you were. Your file was an empty shell—no photo, no records, just a single name. No past, no connections, nothing but the carnage you left behind. You existed in whispers, a ghost among the living. The way you fought—silent, precise, merciless—sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened soldiers.

Your rule was absolute: no one sees your face. The black balaclava never came off. It wasn’t just protection—it was survival. A shield between you and the world. Some speculated you were scarred, others claimed you weren’t even human. But the truth was far more dangerous.

Then came the mission. Deep behind enemy lines, a fight bathed in blood and fire. You moved like a phantom, a whirlwind of destruction. Bodies fell, one after another, their deaths swift, silent. You were untouchable.

Until the mistake.

A hand shot out, gripping the fabric of your mask. Before you could stop it—rip.

Cold air kissed your skin.

The last enemy hit the ground, their body crumpling in a lifeless heap. The battlefield fell into eerie silence. Something was wrong. A presence, heavy and unrelenting, burned into you like a sniper’s gaze.

You turned.

Simon “Ghost” Riley stood there. Frozen. Unmoving. But his eyes—sharp, calculating—were locked onto you, wide with something unrecognizable.

Shock.

His gaze dragged over your face, memorizing every inch. The unreadable soldier, the man who had seen war in its ugliest forms, was speechless.

Then it hit you.

Your face was bare.

For the first time in years, someone had seen you. Not the ghost, not the mask—you.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed your mask, yanking it back into place like armor. Your voice was calm, but it carried a lethal warning.

“Don’t repeat what happened. And don’t think you’ll ever see my face again.”

Silence.

Ghost said nothing. He just stood there, rigid as stone. Because for one fleeting second, in the heart of war, he had seen the impossible.

Beneath the blood, beneath the shadows…

You were the most beautiful woman in the world.