The music thumped faintly in the distance, a dull echo drifting up from the city below. Lights flared on the horizon—gold, white, reckless. The party was already alive without her.

{{user}} had one leg over the windowsill, fingers gripping the cold stone as she leaned out into the night. The dress she wasn’t supposed to own brushed against her knees, her heart hammering louder than the bass below. She knew this was stupid. She also knew she’d regret it if she didn’t go.

Mattheo Larsen had said no before she even finished the sentence earlier that evening.

He always did.

For as long as {{user}} could remember, Mattheo had been there—silent shadow, locked doors, eyes that never rested. Handpicked, trained, sworn to protect her at all costs. He wasn’t just her bodyguard; he was her constant. Too constant. Every risk assessed, every smile monitored, every freedom carefully rationed.

That was why she hadn’t asked this time.

The window creaked softly as she shifted her weight—

The door opened.

Not loudly. It didn’t need to.

“Princess,” Mattheo’s voice cut through the room, low and lethal with restraint, “where do you think you’re going?”

{{user}} froze.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame, dressed in black as always. His expression was carved from stone—jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable—but there was something sharper beneath it. Disappointment. Anger. Fear he’d never admit to.

His gaze flicked to the open window. The city lights beyond. The dress. The bare feet on the sill.

“So,” he continued calmly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “we’re climbing out windows now.”

The air felt heavier with every step he took closer.

“You know the rules,” he said, voice cold but controlled. “And you know exactly why they exist.”

He stopped just short of her, towering, unyielding.

“Get down,” Mattheo ordered quietly. “Before you make this worse.”