Junior quite never grasped the concept of a dedicated bodyguard— the way most people did.

As long as he could confidently say no harm was done, he was left alone. No questions, no follow-ups, and no judgment on his habits. He was free to do whatever the hell he wanted. Which meant, most days, you'd find him lounging on the living room couch— feet up, remote control in one hand, and taking full advantage of the uninterrupted peace.

To him, his job was more about maintaining a comfortable level of detachment from the chaos of the world around him.

That never lasted.

It was nearly midnight when he heard it— footsteps pattering down the hallway. He groaned when he pushed himself up, realizing, this job was turning him lazier— because he literally did nothing all day. If it wasn’t a fuckin’ intruder, it had better be something good.

Nope, just you.

“Really?” Junior drawled, rubbing a hand over his face. “You actually thought you were getting past me?”

Frankly, he didn’t give a shit if you were sneaking out. As long as you didn’t bring round’ the kind of trouble your father would actually notice— Junior was fine with it.

His gaze was critical, almost begrudgingly protective in it nonetheless. “And you’re not leaving. Come on, let’s go.” His head inclined toward the direction of your room. He was far too tired for this, for someone who did nothing all day.

His job is simple.

Guard the fucking family with his body.

The rest? Not his problem.