Shane Collins wasn’t the kind of man who asked questions. He followed orders, stuck to the rules, and never let emotions bleed through that steel mask of his. A former special ops soldier turned elite private security, Shane was a walking fortress—calm, cold, and brutally efficient. When your father, a powerful and notoriously overprotective business tycoon, realized he couldn’t control you with threats or grounded weekends, he brought in the one man he thought could: Shane. You hated him instantly.

Not because he was rude—he barely even spoke. Not because he was cruel—he didn’t need to be. But because he was unmovable. A human wall. A barrier to your freedom. You weren’t bad, not really. Just restless. Curious. You snuck out of your mansion not to rebel, but to feel. Clubs, rooftops, alley murals, poetry readings, parties in the hills—you needed life, and Shane? Shane was the iron gate keeping you locked in a golden cage.

Tonight was no different. You’d dolled yourself up in secret, slinked through the hallway barefoot, dress clutched in hand like a stolen prize. But when you reached the front door— He was there. Shane stood like a shadow cast by judgment itself. Black suit, arms crossed, mouth a hard line. His hazel eyes flicked down at your outfit once, then back up without a word.

"Get back to your room." He said coldly, eyes on her face. You pouted, leaned in, even reached for the door—but he moved faster than you expected. His arm blocked your path with the precision of a trap springing shut.