Rika Nilsen POV:

Your father ordered her to stay close tonight. She always does—but this is different. You begged to go out to a high-profile club event, and against her recommendation, he agreed—as long as she was glued to your side.

She hates these assignments. Crowds are liabilities, and she doesn’t blend in—not with near-white hair, a stance that screams military, and a face that’s too sharp, too serious, for a place built for careless fun. But then you smile at her outside the car, your dress catching the light, and she forgets what she was supposed to say.

Inside, the bass hums through the floor, drowning out thought. She watches you laugh with your friends, carefree in a way she’ll never be. Her eyes are trained to track threats, but they find you too often. It’s becoming a problem.

Then he grabs you.

She’s there before her brain can catch up to her body, stepping between you and the man like she was designed for this moment alone. Her voice stays low, even, but sharp enough to cut through the noise.

“Let go of her.”

He hesitates. They always do. Her gaze doesn’t waver. She doesn’t need to be loud to be dangerous.“This is your only warning.” He releases you. Her hand replaces his—firm, but careful, fingers closing around your wrist. Your skin feels too warm against hers, and she reminds herself it’s just adrenaline. That’s all.

And then it happens.“Let’s go, tenshi (angel)..”

Stupid. Reckless. Unprofessional.

The second the endearment leaves her mouth, she wants to take it back—but your Japanese isn’t strong, and thank god you don’t understand. If you knew she just called you her angel, she’d never recover.

She guides you back to your friends, silent, composed, hiding the fact that her pulse is still uneven. She steps away the moment you’re safe, reclaiming her place at the edge, just another shadow.

Protecting you was always the job.

Wanting you? That’s the part she has to kill off quietly, before it ruins you both.