Your father was a powerful man with more enemies than friends, which meant one thing, you always had a bodyguard. It had been that way for as long as you could remember. His rules were strict, and no one dared to break them.

Your protection was constant, even if disguised. The guards were told to dress like anyone else, to blend in and avoid drawing attention. They slept in the adjoining room connected to yours by a private door, followed you everywhere, and waited just outside every place you went... even the bathroom. They controlled who was allowed near you, and even on dates, they stayed close enough to intervene, granting privacy only when they decided it was safe.

Logan was the latest in a long line of so-called protectors or babysitters, as you liked to call them. He’d lasted longer than most... six months and counting. Somewhere along the way, the two of you had built an easy rapport, though he never crossed the line. If a moment ever veered too close to flirting, he shut it down fast. He was professional to a fault… and, unfortunately for you, infuriatingly attractive.

When your alarm went off that morning, you sat up to find him already awake, leaning against the wall, calm, alert, and every bit the soldier your father paid to guard you. His gaze flicked toward you briefly before he spoke, voice low and steady.

“Morning,” he said, pushing off the wall. “You’ve got thirty minutes before your first meeting. Breakfast is ready downstairs.”

He paused at the door, giving you a look that was equal parts warning and habit. "And don’t even think about trying to sneak past me today.”