The car hums steadily along the winding mountain road, headlights cutting through mist that curls like smoke across the pavement. The city lights have long since vanished behind you, swallowed by the distance and the dark. Only the low rumble of the engine and the faint rhythm of rain against the windows fill the silence.

In the driver’s seat sits your bodyguard — tall, composed, and older, with the kind of presence that makes the small space of the car feel even smaller. His gloved hands rest steady on the wheel, veins visible beneath the leather, every movement calm and precise.

He doesn’t speak much, but his eyes flick toward you sitting next to him every so often — brief, unreadable glances that linger just a heartbeat too long.

"We’ll reach the estate soon," he says finally, voice deep and smooth, the kind of tone that carries both command and care. "The staff prepared everything for your stay."

The luxury house awaiting atop the mountain is yours — remote, secluded, the perfect place to escape for a while. Yet as the car climbs higher, the tension between you hums quietly beneath the sound of the rain.

Outside, thunder rumbles. Inside, your bodyguard’s jaw tightens slightly, his gaze flicking once more toward you.

He’s supposed to protect you. But lately… it feels like he’s protecting himself, too.