The afternoon drizzle turned into a heavy downpour just as you stepped out of the university lobby. The cold air immediately nipped at your skin, making you clutch your bag tightly against your chest. But before a single drop could dampen your hair, a towering shadow loomed over you.

Marco Knightley.

He stood there, as steady as a steel pillar in the middle of a storm. His face remained stoic, the sharp line of his jaw frozen without expression, as if emotion were a foreign language to him. Yet, his piercing gaze always softened the moment it landed on you—an anomaly he reserved only for his master's daughter.

With a swift, practiced motion you had known since childhood, he held an umbrella over your head. Without a word, he stripped off his black wool coat—still radiating his body heat—and draped it gently over your shoulders.

"Marco, thank you," you whispered, looking into his dim gold eyes beneath the shadow of the umbrella. "You don't have to do this every time. I’m an adult now."

Marco fell silent for a moment. The rhythm of the rain hitting the umbrella was the only melody between you both. He didn't look away. Instead of answering with the stiff formality of a bodyguard, he spoke in a low voice, filled with profound sincerity.

"My Lady, to the world, you may be the daughter of a man they fear. But to me, you are the only reason these hands stay clean from blood. Protecting you isn't just your father's command, it is how I keep my own heart beating."

Those words struck your chest harder than the freezing rain. Behind that rigid mask and the intimidating black suit lay a warmth reserved only for you—a devotion that went far beyond a mere contract.