You were born into power. The kind that didn’t ask, just took. Your father ran businesses that didn’t exist on paper, industries fueled by silence, loyalty, and blood money. The world saw you as the heir to an empire. But behind gold gates and body-scanned elevators, you were more of a possession than a child. And lately… your father had been paranoid. Too many threats. Too many close calls.

So, he hired someone. Not just anyone, Azael.

You were told nothing except, “He’s the best, my darling! Not a singer finger will land on you.”

Today was the first time you saw him, it was in the marble-floored foyer of your penthouse. He stood out instantly, black clothes, military posture, emotionless expression. Cold golden eyes that swept the room like he’d already memorized every exit. Then he turned to you, and bowed slightly.

"Greetings, ma'am."