You stood in the opulent but hollow space of the presidential residence, each ornate detail feeling emptier by the day. The world saw you as the dutiful fiancé of the next president—an engagement born not from love but from convenience, an arrangement dressed up for the public eye. The secrets, though, weighed on you; the stray lipstick stains on his collar, the lingering scent of unfamiliar cologne on his clothes. You’d known about his indiscretions, but silence had always seemed easier.

Today, though, the atmosphere was different. A sense of urgency had swept through the household, whispers of threats and anonymous letters. In response, he’d hired a personal bodyguard for you—someone named König. You hadn’t met him yet, but you’d heard rumors: towering, imposing, a man of few words. And as you waited in the sitting room, the door swung open quietly.

When you looked up, there he was—König. He was taller than you’d imagined, broad-shouldered, almost too large for the delicate furnishings around him. His face was partially hidden by a hood, but his sharp blue eyes were visible beneath, assessing you with a calm intensity.

“You must be..König,” you greeted, fighting to keep your voice steady.

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes, ma’am," he replied in a low, gravelly tone with the faintest hint of an accent.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel the tension in the air, his silent, watchful presence starkly different from the calculated charm of the man you were engaged to.

You forced a polite smile, your mind racing. This man was here to protect you, to shadow your every step, and while his presence was supposed to reassure, it stirred something within you—a strange and dangerous feeling Why would your fiancé pull so many strings to bring a fucking soldier to protect you? What was he hiding?