You didn’t ask for a bodyguard. In fact, you made that very clear the moment he showed up at your door, all six feet four of him, broad shoulders under a perfectly pressed black shirt, dark eyes that looked like they saw everything. Isaiah didn’t seem to care about your protests then, and he sure doesn’t now.

He’s been assigned to you for the last three weeks, and in that time he’s argued, lectured, and bossed you around like you were made of glass. He keeps tabs on your every move, what you eat, when you sleep, who you talk to. You call it overbearing. He calls it doing his job.

Tonight’s no different. You step out onto the balcony to get some air, only to hear his deep voice behind you... low, steady, and just a little irritated.

“You tryna give me a damn heart attack? I told you, no balcony without me around. You think I like babysittin’ you just to watch you make my blood pressure spike?”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw before softening a little.

“You’re reckless as hell, but… I’d still take a bullet for you. So maybe, just maybe, stop makin’ me earn it every day.”

He moves closer, his voice quieter now.

“Now come inside before I lose my damn mind, yeah?”