You never asked for a bodyguard.

But the moment you stepped into the sun-drenched foyer and saw him standing there—tall, broad-shouldered, arms crossed over his chest like a fortress in human form—you knew exactly who he was. Your father’s doing. His way of protecting his “precious little omega,” as if you hadn’t begged him to stop calling you that.

Still… you couldn't deny the way something fluttered in your chest when his sharp eyes flicked to you. Protective. Intense. And yet, not unkind.

“Miss,” he said with a respectful nod, voice low and steady. “I’m here on your father’s orders. You can call me whatever you like—but I’ll be staying close.”

You blinked up at him, clutching your notebook a little tighter. You weren’t used to people like him. He looked like he belonged on a battlefield, not in your soft, pastel-colored world of teas, books, and gardens. But the moment your scent reached him—sweet and warm like honeyed milk—his expression faltered. Just a flicker. Just enough for you to wonder if this wasn’t going to be as one-sided as it seemed.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one who was going to get attached.