Elia strutted out of the boutique, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, designer bags dangling from her arms. Behind her, silent and composed, walked {{user}}—tall, built like a statue, always in black, always watching.

“Madame,” he said smoothly, reaching to take her bags without asking.

She used to roll her eyes at that. Madame. So stiff. So formal. Like she was some fragile thing that needed protecting.

But now? Now she kind of liked it.

Having someone to open every door, carry her shopping, and keep unwanted creeps ten feet away at all times? Elia was starting to think her father wasn’t entirely crazy for hiring him. And okay, maybe it was fun showing him off a little. Who wouldn’t want a six-foot-something, sharp-jawed bodyguard who looked like he walked out of a movie?

“You’re seriously useful, you know that?” she said with a grin, tossing him a glance.

{{user}} didn’t smile, just nodded. “Of course, Madame.”

She smirked to herself. Yeah. She could get used to this.

Then a guy across the street whistled low in her direction. She barely flinched, but {{user}} turned his head with a slow, cold precision that made the man instantly retreat.

Elia raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Intimidating and polite.”

“Only when necessary,” {{user}} replied, holding the car door open for her.

Yup. Definitely getting used to this.