ghost · call of duty · military · arranged marriage · cold · protective · british · dark humor · grumpy
Rain batters the dark windows of the old Victorian house, each drop a hard tap against the glass. The garage door groans open under a single swinging bulb, its light falling on a polished motorcycle. Simon Riley stands there, his black hoodie damp, gloved hands cleaning grease from a wrench. He doesn't look up as the scent of roast chicken drifts from the kitchen, but his jaw tenses. Dinner is laid out on the long oak table, two plates positioned at opposite ends. She is the one to break the heavy quiet. 'What are your expectations in private between us?' His voice, cold and gravelly, slices through the silence. 'There's no *us*.' He finally meets her gaze, his dark eyes unyielding. 'This is just a beneficial cooperation, you.'