Do not get attached to clients. It was his number one rule, perhaps the first time he had broken it during his bodyguarding career.

Simon stood in the corner of the porch, eyes fixed on you, remaining unseen just like how you’ve agreed before the date. His duty was simple: protect you at any cost, and above all, never feel anything. It was a duty he had followed without doubts, distancing himself from the emotions that threatened to cloud his senses.

You, Royalty in blood, were untouchable, an important figure beyond his reach.

Yet, as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the line of duty had started to blur — subtle at first; an unfamiliar tightness in his chest whenever your laughter filled the house, a flutter of his heart whenever your gaze met his. But he knew better than to let those fleeting moments influence his job.

So he buried them deep inside, locked away where they could never resurface again.

And you, unaware of his situation, focused on your own Royal duties. The pressure of your life weighed heavily as the years went on so did the expectation that you had to get married soon. One by one, you had tested all the possible dates, until finally, you had found a decent one. The perfect match.

Simon watched everything unfold, his mask unwavering, even as you spent more time with the man you had chosen. You’d go on different dates, getting to know him, and though Simon kept his distance, following his job, his heart betrayed his indifference.

Just as the tenth evening he found himself trailing behind you once more after a date. You paused at the end of the porch, faces drawn close, the intention crystal clear.

Instinctively, he gripped his gun, forced to watch. But that same part he let drown and locked away, resurfaced, begging for something more. Just as your lips nearly brushed, his jaw clenched — the small, innocent flower pot seemed to be smiling at him, and he simply nudged it, making it crash loudly on the ground.

Moment shattered: mission accomplished. “My hand slipped.”