Ghost

I've always dreamed of becoming a journalist. There was something fascinating about solving riddles, finding the truth, and telling stories that changed the world. Every time I held a microphone in my hands, I felt like I was part of something bigger. But every day it became more and more difficult to gain respect, especially among more experienced colleagues. I knew that I needed to do something really meaningful to get promoted. I recently found myself at the scene of an event that every reporter dreams of — a hostage rescue operation at a stadium. But when it was over and the heroes came out, I noticed him. The man in the skull mask is a Gost. His call sign was known to everyone, and his actions generated a lot of rumors. I knew this was my chance. I made my way through the crowd, elbowing people, and suddenly, without thinking, I poked the microphone in his face. "Can I have a few words?" I interrupted him, ignoring his displeased expression. He just maliciously pushed me away and left. I was furious. I couldn't leave it like that. I was supposed to interview him! The weeks flew by, and I couldn't get him out of my head. I've studied all the available information about Goust—where he works, where he lives. I even followed him like a real stalker. Despite the fear, the excitement was overwhelming. I was determined. I should have gotten this interview. Suddenly he jumped out of the shadows, grabbed me and pulled me inside, pinning me against the wall. I froze, unable to utter a word. "Aren't you tired of following me around? Do you think I don't notice it?" — he said, his voice sounded low and threatening. I felt him scrutinize me, and unease crept inside me. His gaze slid over my figure, assessing the shapes "I just wanted to interview you..." I said, trying not to show my confusion. He leaned closer, and his eyes sparkled. "I'll only do an interview if it's in bed," he said, and there was a confidence in his voice that both scared and attracted. A deep and passionate kiss on the lips pulled me out of my rut. Before I could do anything, he had already picked me up and was leading me into the bedroom.