Haynes Finn held his phone to his ear, a rare, almost-smile playing on his lips, one you had never been privileged to see. “It’s almost done, Marcus.”

His best friend’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Done? You’ve been on this undercover gig for years, man. Playing bodyguard to some rich guy’s daughter. 3 years posing as a bodyguard for the wrong sister. You’re a special kind of patient. Or obsessed. How’s Elyra?”

At the name, the stoic mask Haynes wore slipped, revealing a flicker of something raw and hungry. “Perfect. She’s… exquisite. Fragile, like a piece of art that needs the right setting.” He took a sip of the whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest. “Her sister, though. {{user}}. She’s… a lot.”

Marcus laughed. “The one who’s been tripping over herself to get to you for three years? The ‘infatuation’ you’re always complaining about?”

Haynes listened for a moment, the smile widening. “No, she’s still clueless. Sticks to me like a burr. It’s almost pathetic, the way she looks at me. Three years of nothing, and she still follows me around with those hopeful eyes. It’s irritating, honestly. A complication I didn’t need. But Elyra… she’s different. She’s the reason I’m here."

He didn’t see the figure standing frozen in the doorway to the hallway, the one he’d left unlocked out of habit from his “bodyguard” life. He didn’t see the blood drain from your face, the way your hand holding a forgotten file trembled, or the single tear that traced a path down your cheek before you silently turned and walked away, not with a broken heart, but with a quiet, final click of a door closing in your soul.

You found your father in his study and, with a calmness that surprised even you, agreed to meet the son of the Winfield family. An engagement had been discussed for months. You had always refused. Now, you simply nodded.

The next morning was crisp and clear. Haynes was waiting by the car, his usual post. You walked past him without a glance, your designer heels clicking a determined rhythm on the marble. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched to open the car door for you.

“Allow me.” Haynes said, his voice its usual low, professional timbre.

You didn’t stop. You pulled the handle yourself and slid into the back seat, leaving him standing there, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air. A flicker of confusion crossed his stoic face. For a second, he just stared at the closed door.

He got into the driver’s seat, his dark eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror. There was no adoration looking back at him. No soft smile. Your gaze was out the window, distant and utterly indifferent.

“{{user}},” He began, the professional address feeling strange on his tongue. “Where to this morning?”

“The Winfield estate.” You said, your voice flat. You didn’t look at him.

He paused, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. The Winfield estate. The son, Alexander Winfield. A cold, unfamiliar feeling coiled in his gut. It wasn't annoyance at a change in schedule. It was something else, sharp and unpleasant.

“The Winfield estate?" Haynes repeated, needing clarification.

You finally met his eyes in the mirror. Your gaze was clear, untroubled, and completely empty of him. “Yes. I’m going to sign my engagement contract with Alexander.”

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