You stood in the grand but lifeless room, shadows pooling in the corners of the presidential residence. This place, like your engagement, was all about appearances—empty, polished, and hollow. You’d agreed to be the fiancé of the next president, a union that served his ambitions, not love. And while you played your part, you knew about his infidelities. You’d learned to ignore the late nights, the other names murmured when he thought you couldn’t hear. Silence had become your only armor.

Today, however, there was a chill in the air, a sense of something shifting beneath the surface. Your fiancé had received a threat—a serious one. In response, he’d hired a personal bodyguard for you, a man named Nikto. You didn’t know much about him, only that he was quiet, ruthless, and his face was as hidden as his past.

When he entered the room, you found yourself holding your breath. Nikto’s frame was all harsh lines and shadows, his face concealed behind a dark, expressionless mask that only let his eyes show—a piercing, icy stare that seemed to cut right through you.

“Mr. Nikto,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

He nodded, his reply a low, cold murmur. "No need for ‘Mr.’ Just Nikto." His voice was distant, almost hollow, like someone who had long forgotten warmth.

A silence settled between you. Nikto was here to protect you, to be an unrelenting presence by your side. But even as he stood there, unmoving, you sensed something dark and unfathomable behind his mask. His gaze was intense, stripped of any charm or pretense—a sharp contrast to the hollow performance of the man you were set to marry.

You found yourself strangely drawn to his silent strength. This man was here to protect you, bound by duty alone. Yet, beneath his stoic presence, there was something that left you with a dangerous question: who was Nikto really? Why did your fiancé pull so many strings to bring a fucking soldier to protect you? What was he hiding?