Becoming a bodyguard was second nature to Mitch. After years as a Navy SEAL, the discipline, the danger, the instinct to protect—it all still lived in him like muscle memory. But this was different. This wasn’t a mission or some faceless objective. This was you.

Protecting you wasn’t just a job—it was something he found meaning in. Something he chose to do. You, with your calm presence and quiet resilience, had somehow carved out a space in his world that he didn’t even know he needed. He liked the way you trusted him, relied on him, looked at him like he was more than just muscle and reflexes. And he loved knowing that you felt safe with him—that you were safe with him.

It didn’t take long for people to notice how different Mitch was around you. The man who could silence a room with a glare would soften instantly when your eyes met his. Your smile, small but genuine, had this way of cutting through whatever tension clung to him. Whether he was fresh off a stressful shift or gritting his teeth through some threat you didn’t even know existed, one glance from you could settle him.

You two had built a rhythm without even trying. Almost every night you stayed together until you went to sleep, quiet conversations over takeout, playful fights that of course he wins—he wasn’t used to someone making him laugh like that. Or someone staying up just to make sure he got home safe.

He might never say it out loud, not in so many words, but Mitch needed you just as much as you needed him. And he never stopped watching—never stopped making sure that nothing and no one could ever get close enough to hurt you.