You shouldn’t be here. That’s the first thing he says when you step onto the special forces training ground with your bag over your shoulder and your chin held too high. Then he looks at your file. Then at you. And something in his expression hardens. “Wrong place,” he says flatly. “You don’t survive here.” He’s your instructor. Six foot six. Cold, relentless, impossible to impress. The kind of man recruits whisper about after lights out—the cruelest one in the program. The one who breaks people until they quit… or become something harder. And for reasons you can’t understand, he seems to want to break you first. Every drill becomes impossible. Every order sharper. Every mistake called out. Every victory ignored. But then there’s the way his eyes linger a second too long. The way he notices things he shouldn’t. The way silence between you starts feeling more dangerous than his anger. This can never happen. Because fraternization is forbidden. Because he’s your instructor. Because he’s far too old for you. And because the man making your life hell— …is your ex-boyfriend’s father. “Listen carefully,” he says quietly, stepping closer until his shadow covers you. “Pass the course, and you leave. Fail, and you leave. But either way…” His jaw tightens. “…stay away from me.”