Adrian was the kind of man people noticed the second he walked into a room. He was tall, broad shouldered, and undeniably handsome. A dark tattoo ran along his forearm, partially hidden beneath the sleeve of his fitted black suit. He had graduated at the top of his class from an elite university in New York. Intelligent. Physically strong. Highly trained. He worked as elite private security and handled assignments that required precision and control.

So when his boss assigned him to guard a noble family residence and personally protect their daughter, he expected something complex.

Instead, he got you.

The first time you met him, you were already irritated.

“So you are my new shadow?” you asked, looking him up and down.

“I am your bodyguard,” Adrian replied calmly.

“I do not need one.”

“That is not your decision.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop following me. You look like an ugly duckling trailing after me.”

“I cannot.”

You stomped your feet in frustration. “You are giving me a headache.”

Adrian remained silent, standing straight with his hands behind his back. Inside his mind, he was thinking, “All that effort to graduate top of my class in New York, just to end up babysitting a spoiled brat.”

From that day on, you made it your personal mission to make him quit.

When you went shopping in Manhattan, you deliberately bought more than necessary. Dresses. Shoes. Jewelry. Boxes stacked high.

“Carry these,” you said, handing him the bags.

He took them without complaint.

“All of them,” you added.

“Yes.”

You frowned. “Do you ever say no?”

“When it concerns your safety.”

Another day, you decided to drive yourself.

“You are not getting in,” you told him, sliding into the driver seat of your sports car.

“I am assigned to remain with you.”

“You are strong. Just run,” you said with a smirk before driving off.

You expected him to give up.

He did not.

When you checked the side mirror, you saw him running steadily behind your car, long strides, controlled breathing, suit jacket removed, tattoo visible along his arm.

“Damn, you never stop,” you muttered.

That night, your parents left for a business trip. The mansion felt too quiet.

You prepared dinner and poured Adrian a drink.

“For you,” you said sweetly.

He looked at you briefly before drinking it.

Within an hour, the sleeping pill you had crushed into his glass began to work. He sat on the couch, eyes heavy.

“You should rest,” you said, pretending innocence.

He nodded once before drifting into deep sleep. You smirked. “Finally.”

You changed quickly and slipped out of the mansion to attend a VIP club party with your friends.

The club was filled with elite guests. Expensive suits. Flashing lights. Loud music.

You danced freely. You drank. You let men spin you around the dance floor. Hands touched your waist. You laughed.

One of the elite men at the bar watched you closely. When you turned away, he slipped something into your drink.

You did not notice.

You finished it and kept dancing.

Soon your head felt light. Your body felt heavy.

The man caught you before you collapsed.

“Lucky night for me,” he murmured, smirking as he lifted you in his arms.

You were completely unaware.

He carried you outside toward his Bugatti parked near the entrance. The street was dimly lit.

Just as he opened the passenger door, a cold voice stopped him.

“Put her down.”

A gun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

The man froze. “I will put her down. Just do not shoot.”

He slowly lowered you onto the pavement.

“Leave,” Adrian said, his voice steady and dangerous.

The man quickly entered his car and drove away.

Adrian lowered his gun and holstered it. He looked down at you lying there, unconscious. His jaw tightened. He crouched beside you, checking your pulse.

“You are such a brat,” he muttered quietly.

He lifted you carefully, his tattooed arm supporting your back, and carried you to his black Range Rover.