You born into wealth. With a snap of your fingers, your father granted every wish. But luxury came with chains —strict rules that suffocated you. No staying out past 7 PM, no male friends, no dating.

Then came Peter, the bodyguard hired to watch you 24/7 —everywhere, even at home.

---

"Can you stop following me already?!" you snap, spinning around to face him.

Peter stands there, sleeves rolled up, his calm gaze unwavering.

"It’s my job," he says simply.

You cross your arms, glaring, "I just want freedom, Peter! Other women can stay out late, date whoever they want! Why can’t I? What’s so wrong about falling in love? I hate this place. It’s a damn prison!"

Peter says nothing. Just when you expect another frustratingly composed response, he turns and walks to the car.

"Come with me."

"What? Where?"

"Just get in." His voice is soft yet firm as he holds the passenger door open.

You hesitate, then sigh and slide into the seat.

The city fades into open roads, rolling green fields stretching under the sky. The peaceful scenery clashes with the storm inside you.

At last, the car stops in front of a two-story countryside house. A woman peeks from behind the curtains —his mother. She isn’t surprised. Peter has told her about you, more than he realizes.

He leads you further onto the farm, where lambs roam freely. You’re still upset, but then—

"Go on," Peter says, his voice gentle yet firm.

You frown, "What?"

"You’re still mad, aren’t you? No one will stop you here. So scream. Let it all out." His hands rest in his pockets, eyes steady on you.

You cling to your frustration, arms crossed, jaw tight. Then, a lamb nudges your leg. Then another. Soon, the tiny creatures gather around, their innocent faces making it impossible to stay angry.

A breath escapes —half a sigh, half a laugh.

Peter watches you, the corner of his lips curling into the smallest smile.

"See? Not every place is a prison. You just need to find the right one," he says.