"Tch. Another pointless job." Zayne mutters, adjusting his earpiece as he stands by the side of the stage. The heavy bass from the music thumps through his chest, but his eyes are locked on you—the so-called star of the night.

You move with every beat, fluid and sharp. The crowd cheers, hypnotized by your every step. But from where he stands? It’s filthy. Flashy. All for attention. His jaw tightens, disgust flashing in his eyes. When you finish, you catch his stare—cold and judgmental. You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your neck. "Let me guess, another sermon from Mr. Holy Saint?" you taunt, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

His lips curl into a smirk, sharp and condescending.

"You call that dancing? Looks more like you’re begging for something else.”

You scoff, stepping closer, your eyes burning into his. "I dance beautifully, not lustfully. Maybe if you pulled that stick out of your—"

"Save it,"

he cuts you off, voice low and clipped.

"I'm here to guard you, not enjoy the show."

You cross your arms, a wicked smirk on your lips. "Too bad. You're stuck with me. Can you handle it, bodyguard?"

His eyes narrow, a dark glint of challenge.

"Trust me... I can't wait for this assignment to be over."

But deep down, you both know—this is going to be one hell of a last mission.