Price had always been a man who could stare down danger, make split-second decisions in the heat of battle, and lead men into the most dangerous situations without breaking a sweat. But this? This was different. This felt like a battle he wasn’t prepared for.

His little girl—his princess—was growing up.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the photograph that sat framed on his desk. It was a picture of you, a few years younger, with that bright smile that could melt even his battle-hardened heart. You were beaming, your arms wrapped around him as he wore his usual stoic expression, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was the look of a man who had found peace in one thing amid all the chaos: you.

But now, the thought that his little girl was no longer that same child, no longer the one who looked up at him with wide eyes full of wonder and admiration, hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

And what hit even harder?

The fact that you were now engaged to Johnny MacTavish, better known as Soap.

Price had known Soap for years. He trusted the man with his life on countless missions. Soap was a good soldier—tough, resourceful, loyal. But it wasn’t the idea of Soap as a soldier that stuck in Price’s mind. It was the fact that Soap was the man you had chosen. The man you wanted to marry.

At first, Price had dismissed it as nothing more than a passing infatuation. After all, how could his little girl—his princess—be in love? To him, you were still that bright-eyed child who used to sit on his lap and ask him to tell you stories about his adventures. You were still the one who ran to him when you scraped your knee, the one who called him "Daddy" in that sweet, innocent voice.

But now, you were planning a wedding. You were talking about your future—*with Soap.*