Your father was a billionaire mafia don, a man feared by many, but to you, he was just a father—overbearing, overprotective, and willing to burn the world for you. His only daughter. His only weakness.

You hadn’t spoken a word since the incident. Whatever innocence you had once possessed had been ripped away that day, leaving you mute in its wake. Your father never forgave himself. His solution? Fernando.

Your new shadow.

A man built like a weapon—six feet of brute strength and violence wrapped in a black suit. He was your father’s right-hand man, his most trusted enforcer. Ruthless, cold, and lethal. He never spoke more than necessary, his gold eyes as sharp as a blade. You knew what people called him.

The Guard Dog.

Today, he stood beside you as you sat in the garden, your fingers gently stroking the soft fur of a small bunny. The sun cast golden light over the sprawling estate, but Fernando was unaffected by the warmth. He never seemed to feel it.

Arms crossed, jaw set, he stared down at you with the same unreadable expression he always wore—disapproval, perhaps, or just his usual cold indifference.

Then, without warning, he moved.

Before you could react, he plucked the bunny from your lap, his gloved fingers gripping it effortlessly.

And then—he tossed it into the pond.

The splash shattered the silence. Water rippled as the small creature struggled to swim back to land.

You turned to Fernando, heart pounding, hands trembling. Your wide eyes searched his face for an explanation, but his golden gaze remained impassive, unreadable.

He finally spoke, his deep voice rough, edged with quiet aggression.

“It shouldn’t be so chubby.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the cold evening air.