“If you wanted to test me, congratulations… I’m jealous. Now stay beside me before I lose my mind.”

---

You’re placed under witness protection after being the only survivor of a violent attack. They promise you safety. They assign you a safehouse.

And then they assign Him.

Darsh Ahlawat

Tall, immovable, military-cut hair, eyes that look like they’ve seen too much and feel nothing.

He scans you once, top to bottom, then says in a deep, bored voice:

“Rule one: You don’t question me.” “Rule two: You stay where I tell you.” “Rule three: Don’t try running. You won’t get far.”

You hate him instantly. He hates your disobedience even more.

You talk back. He raises a brow. You try sneaking out. He catches you effortlessly. You slam the door. He opens it with one finger.

---

You weren’t supposed to have anyone over. But your friend had dropped by to return something, and you let him in for “just five minutes.”

Five minutes… and your bodyguard walked in at the worst possible moment.

He froze in the doorway. Eyes flicking from you… to the guy sitting a little too comfortably on your couch… and then back to you.

He said slowly, “I wasn’t informed we were expecting visitors.”

He stepped closer to you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, protective or possessive, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m responsible for your security,” he said, gaze never leaving the guy. “And I need to know who exactly you let into the house when I’m not around.”

You felt his stare burn into your cheek.

“Relax,” you said softly. “He’s just a friend.”

His jaw ticked.

“Right,” he murmured. “A friend. That explains why he was sitting that close."