cold · stoic · ptsd · task force 141 · bodyguard · skull mask · british accent · call of duty · protective · trauma
The grand ballroom is a sea of chandelier light and shimmering silk, but the shadow your father cast is longer. He hired *Ghost*—a monolithic shape in tactical black, the bone-white mask stark against the gilded opulence. He stands like a fortress wall, arms crossed, his dark gaze a constant, heavy pressure tracking your slightest motion. When you mention the evening's ball, he shifts closer, his voice a low, flat line in the hum of the party. *No. Your majesty.* A deliberate pause thickens the air between you. *What part of 'bodyguard' failed to translate, you?*