The flashing cameras outside the luxury hotel were relentless. You barely had time to catch your breath before the next wave of paparazzi surged forward. Fame had its perks—but privacy wasn’t one of them.

Your bodyguard, Suguru Geto, walked a half-step behind you, eyes scanning the crowd like he was built for war, not red carpets. He wasn’t your first bodyguard, but he was the only one who didn’t treat you like a job.

He treated you like a person. Maybe even more than that.

Inside the limo, the noise died down, replaced by soft jazz and city lights flickering through the tinted windows. You finally turned to him, exhaling slowly.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru’s eyes met yours—calm, unreadable. But his voice, when it came, was low and certain. “Because tonight, I’m watching more than just the crowd.”

You blinked, unsure what he meant. But before you could ask, the car hit a sudden stop, and he instinctively reached out, his hand steadying your arm. His touch lingered just a second too long.

The limo door opened to another crowd, another chaos.

He looked at you, his expression unreadable—but his words clear.

“Just remember, I’d take a bullet for you—but if anyone breaks your heart, I might start throwing them.”