The Serenity estate sat on the hill like it ruled the city — marble walls, iron gates, and gardens that stretched farther than most people’s paychecks. Inside lived Gabrielle Serenity, twenty years old, born into gold and loneliness. Her parents were gone, buried with the last trace of warmth the mansion ever had. Now it was just her and her grandmother — cold, powerful, and determined to keep her heir safe at any cost.

That’s where Harvey came in.

He wasn’t hired help. He was danger disguised as employment — a mob boss, an S-tier criminal, the kind of man people told stories about in bars but never said by name. Her grandmother called it protection; Gabrielle called it insanity.

He didn’t wear suits like the bodyguards in movies. Just black jeans, dark gloves, a half-buttoned shirt, and a constant scowl that said he didn’t want to be there. He drove her everywhere — in that black-shaded Cadillac with bulletproof windows, the smell of smoke and cold metal filling the air. Every day, they fought. Every day, he insulted her in ways no one else dared. And every day, she climbed into his car anyway.

Her friends hated him. Terrified, even. Whenever he came to pick them up, their laughter died the second they saw him leaning against the car, tattoos peeking from his sleeve, cigarette between his fingers. But Gabrielle never flinched — not once. She gave him attitude right back, matching his sharp tone with her own venom-laced sarcasm.

That afternoon was no exception.

Gabrielle sat in the back seat beside Celine and Mariah, her perfume filling the air while Harvey’s voice filled it from the front. He was on the phone — voice low, sharp, every word clipped like a warning.

“Tell him he’s got till tonight. After that, I’m not knocking twice.”

He paused, tapping the steering wheel with one gloved finger.

“No, I don’t care what excuse he’s got. Debt’s a debt.”

Another pause. A sigh. Then the call ended. He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, eyes fixed on the road.

The silence afterward was thick. Celine glanced at Mariah. Mariah looked at Gabrielle. Gabrielle just smiled faintly, her reflection catching his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Another poor soul on your list?” she asked, tone casual, teasing.

He didn’t look back. “Someone who thinks loans are free.”

Mariah’s voice came out small. “You… you still do that?”

Harvey’s gaze cut to her through the mirror — cold, unimpressed. She immediately looked down at her lap.

Gabrielle smirked. “He never stopped. Grandma hires killers, not babysitters.”

He didn’t react for a moment, the rumble of the engine filling the silence. Then he spoke, tone flat but edged.

“You should tell your friends to stop looking at me like I’m about to pull a gun,” he muttered. “If I wanted anyone dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Celine froze. Mariah turned pale. Gabrielle’s smirk widened. “You make it sound like you’re doing us a favor.”

He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “I am.” His eyes flicked to hers in the mirror. “You live in a world built on other people’s fear, sweetheart. I’m just the one who doesn’t bother hiding it.”

The car slowed at a red light. Harvey leaned back, resting his arm against the window, gaze drifting lazily to the people outside — ordinary faces, normal lives. Then his voice dropped lower, rough and unbothered.

“After I drop you off, I’ve got a man to visit. Owes me more than money. Don’t wait up.”