The city lights glimmered like diamonds, and the night pulsed with the excitement of a packed venue. Cameras flashed incessantly as you stepped out of the sleek black car, every photographer desperate to capture a shot of you. The crowd’s cheers were deafening, echoing through the streets, and you could feel the energy buzzing around you. You had become accustomed to the chaos, the press, and the adoration, but tonight felt different.

Maybe it was because he was there.

Simon, your bodyguard, hovered just behind you, his presence a constant shield against the world. He was dressed impeccably, the suit emphasizing his solid, imposing frame. His eyes swept over the crowd, his jaw set, every muscle in his body taut with alertness. He’d been your protector for nearly a year now, and while you often felt suffocated by the layers of security, Simon had a way of making you feel both safe and… something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You moved through the throng, offering your best smiles and waves, but your heart raced for a different reason. You could sense Simon, always within arm’s reach, and it was impossible not to feel the electricity between you. You had always kept things professional—because you had to—but the tension was undeniable.

A reporter got too close, shoving a microphone at you. Before you could react, Simon was there, his hand out, his voice firm but calm. “Step back,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The reporter’s eyes widened, and they backed off, muttering something under their breath.

You glanced up at Simon, a smile tugging at your lips despite the chaos. “Thanks,” you said softly, and for a split second, his gaze met yours. There was something in his eyes—something that made your breath catch. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual steely professionalism.

“Just doing my job,” he replied, his voice even, though his eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary.