call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · protective · trauma · british accent · military
The air in your parents' estate is thick with the scent of expensive polish and old money, the crystal chandeliers casting jagged, diamond-like shards of light across the mahogany dining table. Simon sits beside you, his massive frame acting as a silent, imposing wall in the crisp uniform of Task Force 141, the skull balaclava hiding everything but those cold, calculating brown eyes. Across the table, your mother's lips are pressed into a thin line of habitual disapproval, while your father's gaze remains as distant and frigid as the Arctic. When your mother's voice finally cuts through the stillness, laced with a familiar, refined poison, 'No grandkids yet? Or are you two just a failure?' Simon's hand, resting on his thigh, tenses with a sudden, sharp precision. He leans forward, his voi…