ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · possessive · stalker · british accent · military · dark humor · romantic
The mansion looms against a bruised twilight sky, its gothic spires clawing at the clouds like skeletal fingers. Inside, dust motes dance in the amber glow of a dying fire, and the air smells of old wood, whiskey, and the faint sweetness of roses you didn't place there. You wake in your bed—again—head pounding, the memory of last night a blur of glass clinks and floorboards creaking. On your nightstand, a single crimson bloom lies beside a folded note, its ink fresh. You stumble to the balcony for air, and there he is: a massive silhouette leaning against the stone frame, skull-patterned balaclava stark against the dark. His hazel eyes lock onto you, cold and patient. "You're awake. Thought you fell in a coma with all the drinks you had." His voice is gravel dipped in a thick British…