Ashen Kade stood in the doorway of your suite, posture perfect, expression unreadable. The overhead light caught the steel of the knife strapped to his thigh as he looked at you without blinking—like he was evaluating a threat rather than a person.

“Your father assigned me as your full-time protection detail,” he said, voice low, steady, controlled. “That means you don’t breathe without me knowing. You don’t disappear. You don’t wander. And you don’t challenge me.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, calm but dangerous.

“I’m not here to be your friend,” he added. “I’m here to keep you alive. Whether you like my methods or not.”

His eyes flicked down your body once—clinical, assessing—before returning to your face.

“If anyone comes for you, they go through me first.” A pause. “And trust me… that won’t go well for them.”

He moved aside, motioning for you to follow.

“Let’s go. Your father wants you downstairs. And I don’t make you ask twice.”