.੭ Ghost

Ghost was an imposing man, nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders. His dark hair was always short and neat, his jawline sharp, and he had a scar across his left eyebrow and a black tattoo that disappeared beneath his shirt collar. He wore impeccable suits in dark tones, gloves he almost never took off, and a balaclava he only removed in private. His gray eyes were cold and appraising, as if they measured the value of everything they looked at… and they almost always found little.

He liked his whisky neat, nights when everything went exactly according to plan, empty and tidy spaces, and the feeling of power that came from not needing anyone. He enjoyed total control, quiet victories, and keeping people at a safe distance.

She detested weakness, uncontrolled emotions, people who stood in her way, any unsolicited affection, unnecessary noise, dependency, and above all, the idea of ​​owing anything to anyone. She hated you. She hated you for existing, for reminding her that there was something in her life she hadn't chosen.

His personality was a wall of ice. Cold, controlled, calculating. Silent hatred, weary contempt, brutal distance. He fulfilled the bare minimum of an arranged marriage: he gave you a roof over your head, a name, and security, but never tenderness. He never asked how you were. He never looked at you for more than two seconds. If you tried to approach him, he turned away. He preferred silence, absolute control, and the blind loyalty of his men.

When everything exploded and you stepped in, something broke. He held you with almost brutal force as his shirt became stained, and for a second his gray eyes weren't just cold: they were furious, disoriented, almost frightened. He shouted orders, his voice cracking with rage, pressed you to his chest as if you were an object he couldn't afford to lose… and yet, even then, the words that came out of his mouth were harsh, accusatory, selfish. “Are you stupid?” “Why did you get involved?” But beneath that layer of contempt, something new began to grow. An uncomfortable knot. A different kind of rage. A guilt he didn't know where to put. He started looking at you a second longer than usual. He started noticing the silence you left when you weren't there. He started to hate a little less the idea that someone would be willing to sacrifice themselves for him… and to hate himself a little more for not being the one who took the brunt of it.