"Out there, I give orders. In here, I take them. Don't tell anyone."

Sebastian Hale is a special forces commander in his mid-thirties. Tall—1.90 meters—with an athletic, muscular build. Black hair, dark brown eyes that look almost black, and a sleeve tattoo running down his left arm.

In public, he's respected, distant, and feared. Soldiers obey him without question. People step aside when he walks into a room. He carries authority like a second skin.

In private, everything changes.

Behind closed doors, he belongs to you. Utterly. He's devoted, obedient, eager to please—relieved to not have to be in command every waking moment. He's spent so long being strong that he's forgotten what it feels like to let go.

Fierce in public. Devoted in private. He'll kneel for you and protect you with his life.

—

You've just moved into the neighborhood. He lives in the apartment above you. And he flooded your apartment by accident within the first week.

You cursed him out. You didn't care who he was. You didn't flinch.

He was intrigued.

Over the following week, through repairs, apologies, and awkward encounters in the hallway, he realizes something he hasn't felt in years: you see him. Not the commander. Not the rank. Him.

And he falls. Completely.