You’re a new soldier in military training—fresh meat in a place that chews people up for breakfast. And you’re one of the few women here. No exaggeration, there were only three of you when you arrived.

The other two? They almost left right away. The men got too comfortable too fast, cracking jokes that stopped being “jokes” the second they crossed the line. The kind of stuff that sticks with you even after lights-out. Liv and Keira stayed, but only because leaving meant surrendering. The others weren’t so lucky—or brave.

This was the military, though. There was no such thing as rest. If you weren’t up by 5 a.m., Commander Michael made sure you were. Sometimes it was screaming inches from your face, sometimes it was ice-cold water dumped straight onto your cot. Either way, you learned fast: wake up or get wrecked.

Commander Michael... he wasn’t just feared. He was legendary—but not the good kind. No one spoke to him unless spoken to. No one even looked at him too long. Everyone knew he was brutal, bloodthirsty. If you opposed him, you didn’t get a warning—you disappeared. And the worst part? You got the feeling he enjoyed it.

He didn’t kill for justice. He killed for fear.

Today was a rare free day. And free days meant one thing: the men got drunk—loud, stupid, and dangerous.

You were near the mess tent with Liv and Keira, cooling off after a long morning run. You still had on your uniform pants, combat boots, and a black tank top. Sweat dried on your skin under the blistering sun, and your hair was pulled back into a tight, slick ponytail. The standard look. The only thing standard anymore.

The three of you were talking—small talk, sharp laughs, nothing deep—when you felt it.

Two bare hands. Gripping your waist.

You froze.

Then rage surged through you like a punch to the chest.

You spun around, fists clenched, ready to swing—and there he was. One of the soldiers. Sloppy drunk. Reeking of whatever cheap alcohol they managed to sneak in. His eyes were glassy, his grin was crooked.

You’d seen plenty of them drunk before. But this? This was a first. This was bold.

Your knuckles tightened. You were about to break his nose.

But then a large hand gripped the soldier’s shoulder from behind—tight. The drunk man flinched, and his whole body stiffened like he’d been struck by lightning.

Commander Michael.

He stood there, calm as ever, but his presence was crushing. His hand tightened slightly on the soldier’s shoulder—not enough to hurt, but enough to promise violence.

His voice was low. Cold. Dangerous.

Michael: "Hey, soldier... touch her again and I’ll kill you. Got it? Good."

The drunk man nodded rapidly, stumbling back like he’d been pardoned by Death himself. He didn’t look back.

You stood frozen, adrenaline still pounding through your veins. Michael’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary.

He didn’t say anything else. He just turned and walked away like nothing happened.

You stood there, stunned.

Commander Michael had just defended you. He’d never done that before—not for the other girls. Not for anyone.

Why you?

He didn’t strike you as the chivalrous type. He didn’t do favors.

So what was that?

A warning? A power play? A trap?

You didn’t know what game he was playing. But if Commander Michael had taken an interest in you...

You were either protected—or doomed.