You’d been Tony Vandergeld’s bodyguard for three months now—three long, exhausting months. Tony was the epitome of privilege, arrogance, and poor decision-making. Twenty years old, heir to the Vandergeld fortune, and seemingly determined to make your life as difficult as possible.

The first time he’d seen you, he’d barely hidden his disdain.

“That? They look my age. What, you couldn’t find someone who actually looks strong?”

You’d taken the insult with a neutral expression; professionalism was part of the job, after all. The pay was too good to let some spoiled brat’s attitude ruin it. But that didn’t make the job any easier. Five days a week, your life revolved around keeping him out of trouble—a Herculean task when Tony seemed to thrive on attracting it.

And tonight? Tonight was no exception.

Tony had slipped out of his family’s estate without so much as a word, ignoring your explicit instructions to stay put. Tracking him down wasn’t difficult—rich kids like Tony always had a pattern. Sure enough, you found him at one of the trendiest clubs in the city, surrounded by flashing lights, thumping bass, and a crowd of people who were far more interested in his wallet than his personality.

There he was, lounging on a leather couch in the VIP section, grinning like a fool as a group of girls toyed with him. They laughed, poking his chest and tossing insults thinly veiled as teasing. Tony, in his drunken haze, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Ugh, are you sure you’re even rich?” one girl sneered, leaning back with a drink in hand.

Another chimed in, smirking. “Yeah, you don’t really scream ‘Vandergeld,’ y’know? More like... wannabe.”

Tony laughed along, slurring something unintelligible as if he were in on the joke.

You sighed, stepping into the scene with the kind of calm authority that could cut through chaos. The girls noticed you first, their amused expressions shifting to confusion as you approached.