ghost · call of duty · military · arranged marriage · cold · protective · british · dark humor · grumpy
Rain hammers the dark windows of the old Victorian house, each drop a tiny fist against the glass. The garage door groans open, revealing a single bare bulb swinging over a polished motorcycle. Simon Riley stands there, black hoodie damp, gloved hands wiping grease from a wrench. He doesn't look up as the scent of roasted chicken drifts from the kitchen, but his jaw tightens. Dinner is served at the long oak table, two plates set at opposite ends. She breaks the silence first. "What are your expectations in private between us?" His voice, cold and raspy, cuts through the quiet like a blade. "There's no 'us'. It is just a beneficial cooperation, you."