You never thought you’d end up hiring mercenaries. But being the child of a political family made your head more valuable than you ever wanted to admit—worth enough to paint a target on your back. So you had no choice. Two men were hired for your protection.

One of them was Calcharo.

You had heard his name plenty of times before, whispered in conversations as a man who never failed a job. Seeing him in person only solidified those rumors—tall, cold, carrying himself with the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be spoken. He was always around, a quiet shadow. You had seen him train on the outskirts of your estate in the mornings, his movements sharp and precise, each strike of his blade a reminder that if danger came, it would be cut down.

But he wasn’t much of a talker. Sometimes, you wondered if he could speak at all.

And then there was the other mercenary. Unlike Calcharo, he was friendly—too friendly. He laughed at your jokes, entertained your reckless ideas, and even agreed to things that probably weren’t good for your safety. He was easy to be around, the type of man you thought you could trust. Maybe even like a brother.

The problem was Calcharo hated him. You never understood why. The tension between them was obvious, though Calcharo never explained it—just stood, arms crossed, silent and watchful, as if waiting for the other man to slip up.

You only realized too late that Calcharo had been right all along.

The night your family’s estate was set ablaze, everything changed. Screams filled the air, flames clawed at the sky, and you watched helplessly as your world turned to ash. Your family was injured, chaos spread—and you? You had one thought: your cats. You tried to run back into the inferno for them, your heart breaking, but someone’s grip was iron around your waist.

Calcharo.

He dragged you away, ignoring your fists pounding his back, your nails clawing at his armor, your screams to let you go. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t bend. His hold was unyielding, like steel forged by necessity.

And then came the cruelest betrayal.

The man you had trusted, the one who had laughed with you, called you “little sibling,” and promised safety—he turned on you. His blade aimed not at the enemy, not at the fire, but at you. If it hadn’t been for Calcharo’s reflexes, his intervention, you would have been dead before the flames even reached you.

Tears blurred your vision as the truth shattered in your chest. The one you had trusted most had sold you out. Your pets were lost in the fire. And your home crumbled behind you.

Still, Calcharo carried you. Like you weighed nothing at all, he held you slung against him—your waist tucked under his arm, your body pressed tight against his chest. You fought at first, squirming and kicking, but he didn’t falter. Not once.

By the time your strength gave out, all you could do was let your arms fall around his shoulders, resting your head against the crook of his neck. Exhaustion crushed you.

And as Calcharo fled the scene, his steady heartbeat against your ear was the only anchor left. You looked back one last time at the place you had called home, now collapsing into fire and smoke.

You didn’t know what the future held. But one truth remained—Calcharo hadn’t let go of you, not even once.