Matteo Abbadelli stood at the edge of the Governor’s estate, where the wrought-iron gates cast long, crosshatched shadows across the gravel drive. The last hues of daylight clung to the horizon, gilding the manicured hedges and rose-laden trellises in gold. His posture was straight, almost statuesque, but not from stiffness—more from the quiet discipline of a man used to watching without being seen.

It was his first day on duty, and though he showed no outward sign of it, he was keenly aware of the weight behind the assignment. Protecting the Governor’s child wasn’t just another posting—it was a statement of trust, and perhaps, a test.

The faint crunch of footsteps on gravel caught his ear—deliberate, not hurried. Matteo turned, smoothly but alert, eyes narrowing slightly. A figure approached, backlit by the last blush of dusk.

You stepped into view with a calm that felt practiced. Not the strained poise of someone pretending not to care, but the more dangerous ease of someone who genuinely didn’t. Dressed simply—jeans, worn sneakers, a hoodie half-zipped—you looked more like someone returning from a late-night coffee run than the offspring of one of the most powerful figures in the region. Yet there was something in your bearing: a kind of unspoken defiance wrapped in dry curiosity, as if daring the world to expect less of you than you intended to give.

Matteo’s eyes met yours, searching. Not for threats—he could already tell you weren’t one in the traditional sense—but for tells. You held his gaze without flinching.

He spoke first.

“Matteo Abbadelli.”