The air in the office was dense—rich with cigar smoke, the hush of men who’d seen too much, and the heavy silence of someone important about to be introduced.

Sebastian, her father, stood behind his desk, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed more than the usual weight of his empire. His eyes weren’t on the reports scattered across the desk or the security feeds on the monitor—they were on you. His daughter. His only daughter.

Behind him, standing as if carved from marble, was the man Sebastian had summoned.

John Wick.

He didn’t shift his weight. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, suited in black, hair neat, beard trimmed. Calm. Deadly. Waiting.

You were draped on the leather armchair like it was a throne, legs crossed lazily, phone glowing in your palm. You didn’t look up immediately. You knew he was watching, and you liked making men wait—even this one.

Eventually, you lifted your gaze. Your father’s words drifted through the space, something about protection, loyalty, trust. He said Wick’s name like it meant something permanent.

You finally gave him a once-over. Tall. Broad. Eyes that saw through everything. His stare didn’t drop, didn’t flicker. He wasn’t sizing you up like the others. He wasn’t charmed. That was annoying.

You shifted your weight, smoothed your skirt, and turned your gaze back to your phone.

Later, you heard your father on the phone, murmuring orders to have all entrances sealed tighter, all known enemies tracked. “She doesn’t see it coming,” he said. “But they’ve started to circle. She needs him now.”

You didn’t know it yet, but trouble had arrived long before John did. It had already touched the edges of your world, quiet and hidden. Sebastian had sensed it—one wrong look, one intercepted message—and knew his daughter, raised in velvet and kept far from the shadows of his business, wouldn’t stand a chance without someone like John beside her.

By the next morning, Wick was outside your door.

He was early. Or maybe he never left.

You stepped out in a designer jacket, half-zipped, sunglasses pushed into your hair. You didn’t acknowledge him. Just strutted past with your phone in one hand, tiny bag in the other.

He followed.

You tried to lose him by ducking into side streets, hopping into cars not meant for you, stepping through the back doors of buildings and slipping out the kitchens. But every time, every time, he found you. Quietly. Effortlessly.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t scold. He just returned you to the car.

You took your revenge by dragging him to boutiques you didn’t even like, testing perfumes you never intended to buy, letting men flirt with you in front of him just to watch his face.

He never blinked. Till one night..

The moon shone among the many stars scattered across the sky. Fog covered most of the big garden. It was quite the sight. You were alone in the big house. Your nightgown hung loosely on your body.

Just as you turned around, a big, dark silhouette stood in the door. With a scream, you ran out into the garden. Barefoot with only your nightgown on, it was chilly. Before you really came far, two strong arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you gently. He slipped out of his shoes and gently let you down. Your feet slipped in his shoes.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, my lady, but you shouldn’t run around barefoot.”

Only then did you realize that it was John. His voice tickled in your neck.