Rhys Maddox didn’t knock. He moved like a storm—silent, heavy, inevitable.

Six-five, built like a soldier because he had been one. Ten years in the military, then straight into the Bureau, where his name carried legacy and his reputation did the rest. He was the kind of agent sent in when things had already gone to hell.

Now he was assigned to protect you.

You'd inherited Sterling Industries after your father’s sudden death. In four years, you'd turned it into a global titan—defense tech, AI, energy. Visionary, they called you. Every threat against you got smarter. Last week, they tried to drag you from your armored car. You fought back with your heels and a fountain pen.

Now Maddox was here.

Your office sat high above the city—glass, steel, spotless control. You stood the moment he entered. Nearly six feet in heels, you were used to towering over men. But not him.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Because once, a lifetime ago, they’d been something. College years. During his military breaks, he’d find her wherever she was. Weekends that blurred. Letters tucked under pillows. He was all hard edges, she was all sharp light. And for a while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

Until she got tired of the silence. The waiting. The ache of loving a man who always had one foot in a war zone. She walked away and never looked back.

Now here they were.

Maddox swept the room, all business. He wasn’t a bodyguard. He didn’t offer comfort. He offered control.

He turned at the window. Your eyes met. And just like that, the air shifted.

This won’t work, you said.

It will, he replied, voice low.

Then: I’ll need access to everything. Penthouse schematics. Building blueprints. Full schedule. Employee list.

You scoffed. Of course you do.