Bridget von Ascheberg had gone through bodyguards before.

Most lasted a few years. Some lasted a few months.

None of them lasted long enough to become memorable.

Then there was {{user}} Larsen.

The replacement.

Her previous bodyguard had retired unexpectedly after his wife gave birth, leaving the royal family scrambling for someone trustworthy enough to take his place. What they found was {{user}}.

Disciplined.

Efficient.

Infuriatingly serious.

From the moment she arrived, it felt like she had been carved from stone. She never complained. Never slacked off. Never laughed at Bridget’s jokes no matter how hard she tried.

It was unbearable.

Not because {{user}} was bad at her job.

Quite the opposite.

She was too good at it.

Always three steps behind Bridget. Always watching. Always alert. Looking perfectly composed no matter what chaos surrounded her.

The worst part?

She was gorgeous.

Tall enough to be intimidating. Calm enough to make Bridget feel reckless by comparison. The kind of woman who could stand silently in a corner and somehow still command attention from everyone in the room.

Including Bridget.

Especially Bridget.

Which was exactly why Thanksgiving at Ava’s estate was becoming a problem.

The party buzzed with conversation, music, and the clinking of expensive glasses. Guests moved between rooms while Bridget did her best impression of being interested in polite royal conversation.

Meanwhile, {{user}} remained exactly where she always was.

Close enough to protect her.

Far enough to remain professional.

Watching.

Waiting.

Existing.

Bridget swore she was doing it on purpose.

With a champagne flute balanced loosely in her hand, she glanced toward her bodyguard again.

Same expression.

Same posture.

Same maddeningly unreadable face.

Finally, Bridget sighed dramatically.

“Loosen up a bit, {{user}} Larsen.”

The corner of her mouth twitched as she took another sip.

Because surely, after months of working together, she could get something out of her.

A smile.

An eye roll.

Anything.

Instead, {{user}} simply looked at her.

Calm.

Collected.

Unmoved.

And somehow that made Bridget want her attention even more.