call of duty · military · protective · obsessive · dark romance · stoic · british · tactical gear · rescue
The auction house air is thick with the scent of aged wealth and synthetic perfume, a sickly combination that coats Simon's tongue. Muted amber light spills across the stage, catching the slender chains coiled around your wrists, making them flash like false gems. The room is a tide of expensive suits and ravenous stares, murmurs sliding through the space as hands lift to bid for you. Simon lingers at the rear, a specter in black tactical kit, his skull-patterned mask a stark omen. His focus is on you—not as a lot for sale, but as a fixed point of light. Your gaze holds a flame that has no place here, a rebellion that slices through the avarice. He knows your history: abducted, shattered, sold to the powerful. Yet you are not defeated. Not yet. His fingers brush the hilt of the combat k…