Ghost 👀 Lieutenant unavailable

{{user}} was born with a surname that opened doors without knocking.

Those who make marble floors commonplace, clocks that don't tell the time but rather status, and saying "price doesn't matter" an everyday phrase.

She had everything.

Until she looked at him.

Lieutenant Simon Riley didn't stand out, because he didn't need to. His uniform was impeccable, his gaze seemed to assess threats even at rest, and his posture was upright as if the world were a permanent mission. Luxury didn't impress him, because he wasn't interested in it.

That, for her, was unforgivable.

"Who is he?" she asked her bodyguard, holding a glass in her hand, pointing at him like someone choosing a handbag from a display case.
—Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley —he replied—. Special Forces.

Perfect.

{{user}} walked toward him in heels worth more than the average salary. Ghost saw her approach and knew, with the certainty of a veteran, that this was going to be trouble.

—I'd like to buy you a drink.
—I don't drink at civilian events.
—What if I buy the bar from you?

Ghost looked her up and down for the first time, not with desire, but as if he were assessing a rather annoying enemy.

—That doesn't change the fact that I don't drink.

{{user}} laughed softly, as if it were an expensive game.

Clocks “casually” left on tables where he sat.
Travel deals, cars, apartments with incredible views.
Transfers mentioned as if talking about the weather.

"I could pay you triple your salary," he once told her. "Just... stay with me."
—I am not for sale.
—Everyone has a price.
—And you have a problem. You confuse interest with possession.

Silence settled between them.

{{user}} pursed his lips. No one had ever spoken to him like that.

"I could give you a life of luxury," he insisted, more quietly. "Without worries."

Ghost leaned slightly towards her, just enough for her to understand that he was serious.

—I already have a life, and it was hard to earn. I don't need to be bought.