Everyone in Payback knew what a nightmare their leader was. Ben — better known to the world as Soldier Boy — had a reputation that stretched far beyond his shield. Arrogant, crude, and insufferable, he managed to make even the worst personalities on his team seem tolerable by comparison. Crimson Countess had her bitterness, the TNT Twins their stupidity, Gunpowder his temper, Mindstorm his paranoia, Swatto his sleaze, and Noir his silence — but Ben? Ben was a category of misery all his own. Grace Mallory had warned you before your first day.

”He’s the worst of them all. Don’t let the smile and the uniform fool you — he’ll eat you alive.”

And yet, Vought picked you. Out of dozens of applicants, they decided you were the one who could handle him — or at least, keep him distracted. Assistants before you had lasted days, some only hours, before quitting under the weight of his insults and temper tantrums. But you? You weren’t here to just survive Ben. Grace and the rest of Payback wanted something more. They wanted him softened, occupied, maybe even vulnerable.

When Grace introduced you to him, the shift was immediate. Soldier Boy’s swagger faltered for just a heartbeat when his eyes landed on you. The fake charm he usually wore around Vought execs turned into something sharper, hungrier.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, voice laced with suspicion, though his gaze had already dropped lower — dragging shamelessly down the curve of your uniform. He didn’t even bother hiding it.

“Your new assistant,” Grace said flatly. “Try not to scare this one off.”

From that moment, Ben was hooked. Obsessed. Like some mutt who’d finally found the person holding the leash. He’d still snap at the rest of his team, still throw his weight around and curse through every meeting, but the second you were in the room? His tone shifted.

He demanded to know where you were if he didn’t see you. He leaned on your desk just to watch you write. He found excuses to call you into his office over nothing.

Grace saw it instantly. The way his eyes followed you every time you walked past, lingering, hungry. The way his cocky smirk faltered if you didn’t look back at him. The way he acted with Crimson Countess — distant, rehearsed — compared to the way he lit up like a live wire when you so much as said his name.

Soldier Boy wasn’t supposed to need anyone. But around you? He was already acting like he did. Oh