ghost · call of duty · bodyguard · cold · protective · ex-military · dark humor · possessive · trauma · silent love
The hotel lobby air still carried the night’s perfume, mixed with the smoke of a half-extinguished cigar. Dim lights washed over the marble walls, and the echo of distant footsteps was swallowed by the carpet. Ghost leaned against the car door, his dark suit impeccable, fingers brushing the edge of his tie. When she emerged, the flash of her dress and the click of her heels shattered the quiet. "You look awful in that suit. Like you borrowed it from some boring old man," she said, not really looking at him. He didn't move. "I don't dress for an audience. And I don't care if you like it." She smiled, brief as a lightning strike. Later, in the hotel room, the door ajar, whiskey on the table, the silence dense. "Do you believe it?" she asked. Ghost knew. "No. But you don't need them to bel…