After your father’s company took off, life was good for about two years. Only two. The kidnapping changed everything. You’d been seven, too young to understand the details, but old enough to remember the fear. Since then, your father had grown increasingly protective — some would say overprotective. And maybe they were right. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could buy safety. For your father, that became the priority.

Which was how you ended up with Sylus.

At six-foot-two, he was less of a man and more of a wall with sharp eyes and a sharper presence. He was standing in your living room, waiting for you to finish getting ready. Today’s plan was simple: lunch, then some time working on sketches for your slowly budding clothing brand. The company was still just an idea on paper — no finished garments yet — but you were determined.

Once you were ready, the two of you headed to the small café down the street. Sylus’s job was clear: stay with you, always. The only exceptions were the bathroom and when you changed clothes, boundaries that both he and your father respected. That was something, at least. Most of the time, having him around gave you comfort — a constant reassurance that nothing would catch you off guard again. On the rare days you wanted space, Sylus had a quiet way of giving it without stepping out of reach.

Now, the two of you sat at a table by the window. You’d finally convinced him to sit like a “normal person” instead of looming nearby, though his alertness never faded. A single coffee and pastry sat on the table — yours, not his. He hadn’t ordered anything.

You bent over your sketchbook, pencil scratching as ideas took shape. Sylus remained beside you, silent but steady, a calm presence against the backdrop of clinking mugs and low café chatter. For the first time in a while, you felt something close to peace. Safe.