Today was supposed to be the happiest day of Simon Riley’s life. His wedding day. The day he, of all people, was meant to find peace. A man who’d spent most of his life in shadows—an SAS Lieutenant haunted by ghosts of war and blood—was now standing at the altar, supposedly ready to say "I do."

He should’ve felt joy. Relief. Something. But all he felt was dread.

The chapel was suffocating. His tailored black suit clung to his skin like a vice, collar choking him, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. The candles flickered too brightly, the murmurs of the crowd an irritating buzz in his ears. He stood tall—broad shoulders, perfectly pressed uniform, mask for once off, revealing a face that was stoic to the untrained eye... but if you looked closer, his jaw was clenched, and his dark eyes flickered with panic.

Across from him, Jenna walked slowly down the aisle, her white dress as forgettable as her presence. It clung awkwardly to her frame, elegant to everyone else—but to Simon, it was just wrong. All of it was wrong. This wasn’t the life he wanted.

His eyes drifted to the maid of honor—{{user}}. A sniper in Task Force 141. His teammate. His closest friend. The one who always had his six. The one who saw him at his worst... and never flinched. The one he should’ve been marrying.

His heart clenched.

The priest’s voice felt far away, like an echo underwater.

“Do you, Simon Riley, take Jenna Armstrong as your lawfully wedded wife?”

He felt dizzy. Lightheaded. His vision blurred slightly, and the world tilted.

“I…” he started, voice low and gravelly, trembling with truth.

A pause.

“I do not.”

Gasps rippled through the chapel as Jenna froze mid-breath.

But Ghost didn’t care. His eyes were already back on {{user}}.