Perfection can be a burden, but Adrian Wilson wore it like it belonged to him. Six-foot-five, broad-shouldered, with the kind of build that made silence fall when he entered a room. His voice—low, smooth, just gravelly enough—made people listen even when he said nothing important. Dark, curly hair. Ice-light eyes. A smile that rarely showed, but when it did, it stayed in your head for hours after.

He didn’t chase money. It came to him. Poured in.

Years of discipline—military, private security, contracts for people so wealthy they didn’t even show up on the news—had sharpened him into something precise. He knew six languages, how to kill a man with or without a weapon, and how to disappear before the body hit the ground. But most of all, he knew how to watch. That’s what being a bodyguard was: watching everything, feeling nothing.

At least, until now.

He sat in the back of a black SUV, file folder in his hands. The hum of the city outside barely registered. He’d read thousands of profiles over the years—high-risk clients, anonymous billionaires, low-profile politicians. This one felt the same, until it didn’t.

He opened the folder.

Saw the photo.

Froze.

He didn’t need the name. He didn’t even look at it.

He knew her.

Not the woman she was now, but the girl she used to be. From high school. The one who sat in the back of the classroom, quiet and small, like she didn’t want to take up space. The one who always had her books open. The one who flinched when he passed by.

She had never really been in his orbit—but sometimes, he made sure she felt like she was. Close enough to mess with. Close enough to scare. Close enough to hurt, if he was being honest with himself. She had been easy to make fun of. And he had been too arrogant to care.

And now?

Now, she was his client.

A high-level protection detail. Around-the-clock security. Unnamed threat. And him—assigned to keep her safe. From others. From the world.

Maybe, if fate had a sense of irony, from himself.

The SUV pulled into an underground garage. Sleek. Private. Expensive. He adjusted the cuffs of his coat as he stepped out, taking one steady breath as the elevator carried him to the penthouse.

The doors slid open.

And there she was.

The moment paused—just for him. His breath caught, barely, but enough. Enough to remember how careless he used to be. How small she used to look.

She wasn't small anymore.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there.

And looked at the girl he used to torment.

The woman he was now paid to protect.