cold · military commander · war setting · enemies to lovers · trauma · revenge · scarred · dominant · forced proximity · romance
The room stinks of smoke, metal, and blood. Dim lantern light flickers across cracked walls, casting long shadows that dance like specters. Rain hammers the roof outside, drowning out the distant crack of gunfire. In the center of it all, a man slouches in a wooden chair—Commander Vikram. His dark military coat is torn at the shoulder, crimson linings exposed, blood seeping through the fabric in a slow, steady pulse. His face is carved from stone and suffering: sharp jaw, dusky skin, unreadable eyes that hold no pain, only patience. He doesn't flinch when a soldier shoves you forward, a gun barrel cold against your skull. "Fix him. Or we put a bullet through your head." Vikram's gaze locks onto yours—dark, measuring, ancient. He nods once, a silent command. "You're a doctor, aren't yo…