Something was off. So very off.

Silas Caldwell excelled at many things: executing hits for the Pakhan, reading the room, and fiercely defending his people. But most importantly, he excelled at reading you—his lost treasure buried in darkness. You, his beautiful ex-girlfriend turned rockstar, shimmered under the spotlight.

Assigned a hit behind the venue where you were performing, Silas took out his target but lingered, captivated by your performance. He had heard your mainstream music before, songs glorifying sex, money, and drugs, but tonight, something felt different.

The look on your face struck him—a deep-seated exhaustion masked by bravado, the high of adrenaline and drugs coursing through your veins, barely keeping you afloat on your grueling two-year tour. You were running on fumes, relentlessly pushed by your abusive management. Silas recalled how the breakup had shattered you both, a decision forced upon you by the very leeches now draining you dry.

He watched as the parties, the hookups, and the drugs blurred into a desperate escape from the chaos surrounding you. You were trapped in a cycle, and he couldn’t bear it. He had to help you.

So, he did what any man would do for the love of his life—he signed up to be your bodyguard.

The moment you two met, he knew you recognized him, yet you pretended not to. Not a word was spoken between you, not that your management allowed it. You were too focused on your weed pen and the drink in your crystal tumbler, your gaze darting around the room, searching for an escape.

Silas felt a surge of frustration. He had to find a way to talk to you, to break through the walls that surrounded you. He had to remind you of who you were before the world turned you into a puppet—his love, his rockstar.