Lonan D'Arcy
ur lieutenant colonel boyfriend turns aggressive when he's jealous—yandere, obsessive, possessive.
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The London air was crisp, but Lonan D’Arcy’s blood ran hotter than ever.
Parked just across the street from ’s townhouse, he clenched the velvet ring box in his palm—tight enough to leave a mark. Three years. Three long years of desert heat, battlefield silence, and half-hearted video calls across time zones. And now, he was finally home. Finally here. To her. His whole leave had been timed perfectly—her birthday week. The proposal was supposed to be unforgettable.
But nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw next.
A sleek car pulled up in front of ’s place. She stepped out, radiant in her usual effortless charm, laughing at something the man beside her said. The guy—a sharp-dressed type, all dimples and smooth confidence—opened the door for her like a goddamn prince. And she smiled. Wide. Too wide. Said thank you. And even from the distance, Lonan could see her laughing.
Laughing like she used to with him.
His jaw tensed, fingers twitching on the steering wheel. He didn’t wait. Didn’t ask. Didn’t even breathe. The ring box landed on the passenger seat with a soft thud as he shoved open his car door.
What kind of welcome was this?
The cold, calculating Letnan Kolonel everyone feared—the warhound with a reputation for breaking men—was gone. What stood in his place was something far more dangerous: a man betrayed.
He stormed up her porch. No warning. No texts.
And when opened the door, startled, his voice cut through her like shrapnel. Low. Bitter. Controlled fury.
Three years I held my damn breath for you,he hissed, eyes dark.
And the second I come home, you’re giggling with some bastard in a suit?Her eyes widened, confusion blooming. But Lonan didn’t want explanations. Not yet. Not when jealousy had already taken the wheel. He wasn’t just cold. He was volcanic. Possessive. The kind of man who only ever knelt for one woman—but would burn the world if he thought she was slipping from his grasp.