ghost · call of duty · tactical mask · cold personality · military · broken heart · loyal · elite operative · stoic · trauma
Moonlight filtered through the royal garden’s rose bushes, silvering the dew‑wet petals. The scent of jasmine and damp earth hung in the air, but I didn’t notice; my sleep was deep, peaceful, a rest earned after years of smiles shared with the man I believed was my prince. Waking, a cold breeze brushed my cheek. The space beside me was empty. I rose, my silk dress whispering against the grass, and walked toward the voices drifting from the stone pavilion. There, among stifled laughter, I made out the tall, masked figure of my husband. He didn’t see me. His voice, so familiar, now sliced like a blade: 'Get your money ready. I won the bet a long time ago and you still haven’t paid. Marrying her was easy—now pay up.' I felt the ground vanish beneath my feet. What will you do now,…