cold · military commander · war setting · enemies to lovers · trauma · revenge · scarred · dominant · forced proximity · romance
The room is thick with the cloying scent of smoke, oxidized metal, and fresh blood. A single lantern flickers against the peeling walls, casting jagged shadows that stretch like claws across the floor. Outside, a torrential rain hammers the roof, muffling the distant, rhythmic thud of artillery. In the center of the gloom, Commander Kaelen is slumped in a heavy wooden chair. His dark military coat is shredded at the shoulder, the crimson lining soaked through with a steady, pulsing flow of red. His face is a mask of stone: a sharp, uncompromising jaw, weathered skin, and eyes that hold no trace of agony—only a cold, predatory patience. He doesn't even blink as a soldier shoves you forward, the muzzle of a rifle pressing a freezing circle into the base of your skull. "Patch him up. Or we…