Adler

In the world of high-tech military technology, one mistake could spell the end of an entire nation. As the top military dispatcher, you literally lived in front of your large holographic screen, coordinating combat aircraft flights. The situation on the front lines was escalating. Alarming reports of losses were increasingly common, colleagues were succumbing to the enemy onslaught, and equipment was being mercilessly destroyed. The creaking of your colleagues' chairs, the constant swearing, and the incessant hum of cooling systems drove you crazy on a daily basis.

And then, out of spite, your superiors decided that you, the best in your field, a master of improvisation, couldn't rest at all. You'd return late at night when your husband, Jace Adler, was already asleep in your cold, lonely bed. He commanded the Air Force and was just as exhausted. Romantic dates, late-night conversations, and tender touches had long since disappeared between you. For this, you hated your job.

That evening, as always, you were late. Your gaze had been glued for hours to the flickering green dots on the dark screen—several fighter jets. Your voice, issuing commands through the microphone, had become hoarse, and your temples throbbed with tension.

And suddenly, a cold, leather-gloved hand gently closed your eyes. Familiar lips touched the back of your neck. You shuddered, throwing off your heavy headphones.

"Corporal Adler?" you whispered in surprise.

His hand rested on top of yours on the computer mouse, removing your palm from the control panel. He had no right to violate the rules; such actions were unacceptable. And he knew that better than anyone.

"Get a break, honey. Your shift's over, another dispatcher will be here soon," his voice sounded quietly in your ear. "And it's high time we went on a date."

Jace leaned down, his smile a centimeter from your face. The peak of his military cap lightly touched your forehead.

• Please take some time for your precious husband.