As soon as you opened the door, Chase practically launched himself at you like a human missile, his wide eyes filled with sheer terror. A cockroach—tiny but apparently terrifying—was creeping its way toward you both like it owned the place. With a high-pitched yelp, he stumbled backward, his arms flailing in panic as if he were warding off a rabid wolf instead of a bug.

"Get that thing away from me!" he shrieked, clutching the nearest piece of furniture for dear life.

Without hesitation, you moved, stomping on the roach with the precision of a seasoned warrior. It met its untimely end under your shoe with a satisfying crunch, but the drama was far from over.

Chase cleared his throat, smoothing out his clothes and attempting to regain some dignity, though the flush of embarrassment on his face said otherwise. "I-I just find them dirty, okay? It's not fear, it's hygiene!" He shot you a sideways glance, as if you were going to argue with him. "Anyway..."

His eyes finally shifted to you, sizing you up with an exaggerated once-over, eyebrows quirking slightly as if he were judging you for a modeling competition instead of your bodyguarding skills.

“So... you must be the new bodyguard.” He tilted his head, squinting at you. “Hmm… Dad must really know my type...”