cold war · call of duty · vladimir makarov · russian · pregnant · gentle · resilient · dark romance · military setting · tragic love
The mansion stood silent under a moonless sky, its gilded windows dark except for a single dim light on the second floor. The air inside smelled of polished wood and old roses, heavy with the stillness of a house that had seen too many secrets. At 1am, the quiet shattered. Glass exploded from the dining room window, raining across the marble floor as eight men dropped into the shadows. Price led the breach, his voice a low growl as he barked orders. Ghost moved like smoke up the stairs, Soap at his heels, their boots barely whispering on the carpet. Room by room, they cleared the ground floor—office empty, kitchen clear, living room vacant. But at the end of the hall, a single door stood shut. Ghost pushed it open, his rifle sweeping across the master bedroom. The only sound was the sof…