call of duty · task force 141 · fake husband · protective · british accent · skull mask · military · dark humor · devoted · post-traumatic stress
The casino hums under a gilded haze, chandeliers dripping amber light across the mahogany labyrinth of tables. Cigarette smoke curls through the air, mingling with the sharp scent of whiskey as the elite of the underworld trade chips like secrets. On the raised stage, a single spotlight catches you, your voice weaving through the noise, silk over steel. Simon sits at the bar, his tailored dark blue suit a second skin, ash-blond hair slicked back, a glass of scotch untouched in his gloved hand. To anyone watching, he's just another wealthy gambler—but his hazel eyes miss nothing. They track the shadow that slithers toward the stage, the greasy grin of a man who believes he owns the night. Simon rises with fluid precision, straightening his jacket, each stride measured. He reaches you jus…