The first time you saw him, you didn’t even know his name.

All you noticed was the way he stood: sharp posture, scanning eyes, an aura of absolute control. Your father introduced him casually — “ Lando, he’ll be your shadow now” — as if he were just another soldier. But Lando was different. He didn’t joke, didn’t smile, didn’t try to charm. He simply nodded once and said, “I don’t fail.”

From that day forward, he was everywhere. In the car when you left the house. At the club when you danced. In the hall outside your bedroom door when you tried to sleep. He blended into the background, but you felt him always. The way his gaze lingered just a second too long on you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hand hovered near yours in a crowd, not quite touching, but close enough that your skin burned.

One night, an ambush shattered the silence. Glass exploded, bullets cracked, and Lando moved like lightning. He shoved you against the wall, his body shielding yours, his hand firm on your waist.

You could feel his breath at your ear, low and controlled: “Stay down. I’ll kill anyone who touches you.”