stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · possessive · dominant · haunted past · tactical genius · loyal
The chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the charity gala, their light catching on the diamonds and pearls that adorned the wealthy guests. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of violins weaving through polite chatter. You stood amidst it all, the red evening gown a stark contrast against the sea of black tuxedos, your fingers curled around a stem of champagne. Across the table, Ghost was a shadow in the light—his tailored suit a perfect armor, his skull mask traded for the cold, impassive lines of his face. Yet his eyes, those dark, intense eyes, kept finding you. When the auctioneer presented the necklace, its rubies blazing under the spotlight, you whispered your admiration without thinking. His voice, when it came, was a low rumble that cut thr…