The man they hired

Her father didn’t warn her.

Of course he didn’t. He preferred “announcements” that felt like explosions.

Like the explosion waiting for her in the living room.

She walked in, half-asleep, hair messy, hoodie hanging off one shoulder — and then she froze.

Because a man stood there.

Not a guest.

Not a family friend.

Not anyone who belonged in pretty homes with expensive furniture and glass chandeliers.

Tall.

All black clothing.

Tattoo peeking from his collar, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes like something that had seen too much darkness and still wasn’t afraid of it.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He was watching her.

Calmly.

Unblinking.

Like she was a problem he already knew how to solve.

Her father cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sweetheart, this is—”

“I don’t want him,” she said immediately.

The man didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe differently.

Her father sighed. “He’s your new security.”

She turned to him, whisper-screaming. “Dad, I don’t need a bodyguard!”

“You do,” he answered flatly. “Someone threatened you.”

She stared. Her heart lurched — but not out of fear.

Out of anger that she hadn’t been told.

Out of annoyance at the man who stood there like a silent shadow.

“And why him?” she demanded. “He looks like he kills people for breakfast.”

The man finally spoke.

“Lunch,” he corrected quietly. “Breakfast is too early.”

Her breath caught — not from fear, but because his voice was low, deep, and unfairly smooth.

The kind of voice that poured into your spine and stayed there.

“His name is Rafe,” her father said, pretending he didn’t hear the comment. “He’s the best.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

He didn’t deny the killing remark either.

She folded her arms. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Rafe looked directly at her for the first time, gaze slow, assessing, like he was reading a file she didn’t know she had.

“You need protection,” he said simply.

She bristled. “From what?”

He stepped closer, not rushing, not intimidating — just… approaching.

She held her ground stubbornly, even as his presence wrapped around her like smoke.

“From people who aren’t as patient as I am,” he murmured.

Her pulse jumped.

He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to it.

Then — unbelievably — he smirked.

Barely.

But enough to send heat crawling up her neck.

“See?” he said quietly. “Your heartbeat agrees.”

“You— you can’t just listen to my heartbeat!”

“You’re standing close enough,” he replied.

Her father clapped his hands loudly. “Okay! Enough flirting.”

She nearly choked. “FLIRTING?! With HIM?!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, amused.

Her father left the room because he clearly feared a second explosion.

Now it was just her and Rafe.

The air shifted.

She swallowed. “You’re not staying.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make you quit.”

“Try,” he said softly.

God. The audacity.

She turned, hair swinging, and walked away — but she could feel him behind her, silent steps following effortlessly.

“Are you seriously—?!” She whirled around. “Why are you following me?!”

“Protection.”

“I don’t need it.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they get killed.”

She glared. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“Then stop smiling like that.”

“I’m not smiling.”

He wasn’t. But somehow he looked like he was enjoying this.

She marched toward the stairs.

He stayed two steps behind her — close enough to hear her breathe, far enough not to touch.

It annoyed her more than if he did touch.

At the top of the stairs, she spun again.

“Okay, rule number one. Stay out of my room.”

Rafe looked completely bored. “I don’t want to be in your room.”

“Good.”

“Unless you scream,” he added casually.

She blinked. “Why would I scream?”

He stepped in, just one step, just enough to make her knees soften.

“Because danger usually doesn’t knock.”

Her throat tightened.

“And,” he added softly, “you look like you scream easily.”

Her lips parted. “I— I don’t—”

He leaned in, voice a dark whisper. “Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Her skin tingled.

Her breath hitched.

She hated that he noticed.

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Listening to my heartbeat!”

Rafe shrugged. “You’re the one standing close.”

Her face heated instantly. She stepped back — too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little,” she lied.

He smirked again — that devastating half-curve of lips that shouldn’t be legal.

“Princess,” he murmured, “you’re terrible at lying.”

She exhaled sharply. “This isn’t going to work. I don’t like you.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not here for you to like me.”

“Then what are you here for?”

He stepped closer — slowly, deliberately — until she felt the warmth of him.

“To keep you alive.”

She shivered.

“And,” he added quietly, “to make sure you stop walking into danger like a kitten that thinks it’s a lion.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you just call me a kitten?”

“Mm.”

“Why?”

“Because you pretend you can claw,” he said softly, eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second,

“but deep down you’re soft.”

Her knees weakened.

Rafe straightened, mask slipping back into cold professionalism.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be outside your door.”

She froze. “Outside my—? No. No way.”

“Someone threatened you,” he reminded. “I don’t take risks.”

“You can’t just stand guard like—”

“Princess,” he interrupted, voice low,

“I’m not asking for permission.”

And then he turned and walked to her doorway, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but lethal.

He wasn’t joking.

He really was going to stand there all night.

She slammed her door shut.

On the other side, she heard him chuckle — quiet, dark, amused.

And her heartbeat betrayed her again.

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