The weight of his gaze was impossible to ignore. You stood by the doorway, fingers hovering over the handle, but the second you glanced over your shoulder, you found him watching. Always watching.
His black eyes were sharp, unreadable, carrying the same quiet authority they always did. He didn’t move, didn’t even seem surprised to see you sneaking off. He was just there, standing in the dim light of the hallway like an immovable force.
"Going somewhere?"
His voice was deep, calm—never raised, never rushed. Yet somehow, it held enough weight to make you hesitate.
You clenched your jaw. “What does it look like?”
He didn’t flinch at your irritation. Instead, he simply took a step closer, broad shoulders filling the space between you and the exit.
"It’s late," he stated, glancing at the clock. "Your father asked me not to let you out of the house past midnight."
Of course he did.
It was just like your father to do something this extreme. Hiring a personal security guard—no, a babysitter—because he was too overprotective to let you be on your own. And not just any security guard. Him. The man who never smiled, never reacted, and never let anything slide.
As if sensing your frustration, he sighed.
"Listen, I know you don’t like me being here. But your father trusts me, and I have a job to do. Just cooperate, and this will all go smoothly."
There was no malice in his words, no smugness. Just an unwavering certainty, as if there was no room for argument.
And that was the most frustrating part. Because deep down, you knew one thing for certain.
If he decided you weren’t leaving tonight…
You weren’t leaving.