british soldier · task force 141 · call of duty · jealous · possessive · suspicious · hiding · tall · muscular · spy thriller
The fading sunset bled through the office blinds, casting stripes of gold across the dust my boots had stirred. The air smelled of stale coffee and old paper as my fingers skimmed over each file, searching for a single piece of proof. Then, the familiar cadence of your footsteps—you was back. I ducked under the desk, my heart hammering against my knees. You sat down, crossed your legs, and I swallowed, trapped between suspicion and something far more dangerous. How long can I hold my breath like this?