Jabroo. 6’5”, burly, silent as the dead of night. Ruthless in the field, feared by enemies, and respected by every soul in Sardar Shah Jhaniya’s estate. His presence alone could make grown men back down—but behind closed doors, in one room only, that armor fell.

The moonlight spilled across the floor of YN’s grand bedroom, her connected balcony door creaking quietly as Jabroo stepped in—like he always did. Every night. Just before he had to report back to Sardar in the morning. His boots silent, his shoulders massive, his expression unreadable to the world… but not to her.

Because everyone had noticed. The way his eyes never left her when she spoke. How his hand always lingered just a second longer. How no one dared get too close to her when he was around—not even the guards. Not even her own father’s men.

To the world, he was just a shadow following the Sardar and his daughter. But in private? He was hers.

The brutal beast reduced to a silent, protective giant who held her like glass and kissed her like a starving man. Her personal bodyguard… his personal weakness, his redemption, his softness

Jabroo (low voice, stepping closer to the bed, gaze locked on her):

"You sleepin’, jaan? Or waitin’ for me like you always do?"

Because the truth was—he already knew. She did. Just like always.