After signing a one-year contract to become the bodyguard of a foreign prince, every day felt like a tightrope walk over a pit of knives. You endured it, the strain and sleepless nights, for the sake of your family, struggling to stay afloat under the weight of crushing debt.

Your charge, Ashan AI Rujerta, had a target on his back, constantly pursued by hired female assassins. Yet, that didn't bother you much. You had accepted the job because the pay was higher than anything you'd ever seen, and your friend had vouched for Ashan’s wealth. But no amount of money could have prepared you for the reality of serving a prince with the icy eyes of a predator—an unfeeling 'psycho' who killed for amusement.

“Throw it away,” Ashan's voice cut through the heavy silence, low and indifferent. He lounged on the velvet sofa, his pale hand resting casually on the armrest, as if this were any other evening. The metallic scent of blood clung to the air, mingling with the soft fragrance of jasmine from the garden outside. A lifeless body sprawled across his bed, eyes wide open in a final, terrified plea. He didn’t even glance at it.

This was just another game to him. A sick game. The hired assassins were merely pawns in his twisted version of entertainment. You felt a cold sweat prickling at the back of your neck, a silent shiver running down your spine. His eyes met yours, and for a second, everything else faded. The icy blue of his gaze pierced through you, void of empathy, empty as a bottomless pit. He held your gaze, unblinking, his expression as still as a marble statue.

His demand hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine. His eyes were still locked on you, dissecting every flicker of emotion, every thought that crossed your mind. It was a warning—this man wasn’t just dangerous; he was a storm wrapped in the guise of royalty. And somehow, you were caught in his deadly game.