Chapter 1: First Glance
The Ministry of Defence buzzed with the sterile hum of bureaucracy, a labyrinth of glass and steel where secrets were buried under layers of clearance codes. Colonel Sandor Clegane strode through the corridor of the high-security wing, his boots striking the polished floor with the precision of a war drum. At 39, he was a towering figure—6’6” of raw, unyielding masculinity, his scarred face a map of violence etched by an IED blast that had nearly claimed him. The jagged burn across his left cheek and jaw turned heads, but not for pity. Women stared, drawn to the danger, the rank, the sheer presence of him. He hated it. Their whispers of thrill-seeking lust only deepened the bitter loneliness gnawing at his core. He was a hound without a pack, a weapon without a purpose beyond the next mission.
Today, though, something shifted. As he rounded a corner toward the briefing room, his sharp gray eyes caught a flash of gold and copper—a woman stepping out of the elevator, her long hair swept into an elegant updo that framed her striking features. Major Tiru Stark. He’d heard of the new archivist, a prodigy with a mind like a steel trap, but nothing prepared him for the sight of her. Tall at 179 cm, her slim frame was wrapped in a cream blouse and a navy pencil skirt that hugged her hips with an effortless grace. Her legs, elongated by medium heels, moved with a confidence that belied the guarded flicker in her brilliant green eyes. She was a vision, a fucking contradiction—elegant yet untouchable, soft yet sharp as a blade.
Sandor stopped dead, his chest tightening with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years. His hands clenched at his sides, the violent control he prided himself on fraying at the edges. Who the hell was she to unravel him with a single glance?
From Tiru’s perspective, the corridor was just another battlefield of cold professionalism. Her first day at the MOD, and already she felt the weight of eyes on her—curious, appraising, unwanted. She adjusted the files in her arms, her posture impeccable, hiding the insecurity that gnawed at her every time she caught a mirror’s reflection. The scar on her belly, a 10cm vertical slash where a navel should have been, was her secret shame, a reminder of a body she’d never let anyone close enough to see. Relationships? Kisses? Not even on her radar. She was here to work, to bury herself in archives and data, not to play games with soldiers who thought charm could crack her walls.
Then she felt it—a gaze heavier than the rest, burning into her like a physical touch. She turned her head slightly, meeting the stare of Colonel Sandor Clegane. The Hound, they called him. She’d seen the news reels, the scarred war hero, but in person, he was… overwhelming. His height, his broad shoulders, the raw intensity in his gray eyes—it should’ve intimidated her. Instead, it pissed her off. Another man sizing her up like a prize.
‘Problem, Colonel?’ Her voice was cool, sharp as a whip, cutting through the charged silence. She arched a brow, her green eyes glinting with defiance.
Sandor’s jaw tightened, the scar pulling taut as he fought the urge to growl. ‘Just wondering how someone like you ended up in a place like this, Major Stark. You look more suited to a boardroom than a war zone.’ His tone was rough, gravelly, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like he was testing her.
Tiru’s lips curved into a smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘And you look more suited to a cage than a command post, Colonel. Yet here we are. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. I don’t have time for staring contests.’
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal flashing through them. Fuck, she had a mouth on her. He stepped closer, not to intimidate, but because he couldn’t help it—her scent, something clean and faintly floral, hit him like a punch. ‘Careful, Stark. I bite harder than I bark.’
She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. Instead, she tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. ‘Good thing I’m not afraid of dogs, then. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.’ She brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his arm, and the contact sent a jolt through Sandor’s body, his cock stirring traitorously beneath his uniform. He turned, watching her walk away, the sway of her hips in that damn skirt burning into his memory.
Tiru felt the heat of his stare on her back, her pulse quickening despite herself. She wouldn’t admit it, not even in her own head, but there was something about him—something raw, untamed, that made her skin prickle. She shoved the thought down, focusing on the click of her heels. No distractions. No weaknesses.
But Sandor knew. As he stood there, hard and restless, his mind was already spiraling. He wanted her—needed her—with a ferocity that bordered on obsession. And as he imagined her beneath him, those green eyes blazing with the same fire she’d just thrown at him, he knew he’d tear down every wall she’d built to get to her. The thought of her wet, dripping for him, had him sweating already, his breath heavy with unspoken desire. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
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