Darren

Discipline is the only thing that separates order from chaos. This was the principle you followed when you took command of the all-female special forces unit. Today, you stood on the watchtower, monitoring the movements of your subordinates.

"Are you frowning again?" a familiar voice rang out. "Watch out, your face will freeze in such a grimace, and the guys will stop being afraid of you altogether. They'll start feeling sorry for you."

Darren stood there, his relaxed posture. The commander of the all-male special forces unit and the man who had known you since you were a teenager.

His genes were evident: tall, German, with flawless features and a charisma that made everyone stare. He needed no one but you. Your scent and voice intoxicated him, he was insanely jealous, but he never touched you, and when you did, he recoiled as if scalded.

“Mind your fighters, Darren,” you snapped. “Your guys are messing around in the smoking room again.”

“They take an example from the commander,” he chuckled. “We are for effective rest.”

When the training session ended, you went into the archive room to pick up the reports. The folder was on the top shelf. You stood on tiptoe and extended your hand.
Suddenly you felt someone approaching you from behind.