VALERIE

The morning light streams through my bedroom window, momentarily confusing me. This isn't my room at home or the dorm I had planned to stay in.

Then one by one, yesterday's events come flooding back into my mind—the threats, my father's intervention, and then Brian.

Especially Brian. And that bathroom encounter.

I groan and bury my face in my pillow. How am I supposed to live with someone who looks like that? Someone who's literally being paid to watch my every move?

My phone buzzes with a text from Dad.

Dad: How's everything going? Settling in ok?

I type back a brief reply.

Me: Fine

Then I drag myself out of bed. I listen at the bathroom door before unlocking my side, and I’m quite relieved to find it empty. After a quick shower, I dress in ripped jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

When I emerge into the main living area, Brian is already up. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black fitted t-shirt that does nothing to hide his athletic build. He's standing at the kitchen island, reading something on an iPad while sipping coffee.

"Morning," he says without looking up. "Coffee's fresh. Mugs are in the cabinet above."

I help myself, noticing that he remembered I take mine black. The small consideration irritates me for some reason. I don't want him paying attention to my preferences.

"Your first class is at ten," he states, finally looking up from his iPad. "We should leave by nine-thirty."

"You memorized my schedule already?" I ask. I blow on my coffee, as I eye him over the rim of my mug.

"It's my job to know your movements,” he replies. His tone is matter-of-fact. "We need to go over security protocols this morning."

I lean against the counter, already dreading this conversation. "Let me guess, no fun allowed?"

He ignores my sarcasm, and sets his iPad down. "Let me make something clear to you, Valerie. The threats against you are real. And whoever is behind them has been watching you for months."

A chill runs through me despite the hot coffee. "What exactly did they say? My dad wouldn't tell me."

Brian hesitates. "That's because some of it was explicit. Like in a sexual way. They described your daily routines, what you wear to bed. Things only someone with close surveillance would know."

My stomach instantly drops. Someone has been watching me in my most private moments, and documenting my habits. I set my mug down, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"Why me? Is it about my dad's money?" I question.

"Partially," Brian admits. "But it's more personal than a typical extortion attempt. The messages suggest obsession."

Great. Not just a threat but a creepy stalker.

"So what are these protocols?" I ask, trying to sound casual despite my growing unease.

Brian slides a small device across the counter. It looks like a stylish metal pendant on a chain. "Wear this at all times. It has GPS tracking and a panic button. Press it twice and I'll be alerted immediately."

I don't touch it. "A tracking collar? Seriously?"

"It's not negotiable." His tone hardens. "You also need to check in every two hours while we're apart."

"Every two hours?" I stare at him incredulously. "What am I supposed to do, set an alarm during lectures?"

"A quick text will suffice." He pushes the pendant closer to me. "And no going anywhere alone after dark. I'll accompany you to evening classes and back."

I laugh bitterly just before I say, "So much for college life. Why not just lock me in a tower?"

"This isn't a joke, Valerie."

"Oh, I know it's not. It's my life you're destroying." I move away from the counter. "No parties, no dating, check-ins like I'm on parole. Why even bother with college? Why not just ship me to a bunker somewhere?"

Brian steps around the kitchen island, closing the distance between us. "Because your father wants you to have as normal an experience as possible while still keeping you safe. I'm trying to strike that balance."

"Normal?" I gesture around the luxury apartment. "Living with my father's employee, wearing a tracking device, having a babysitter in my classes? That's your definition of normal?" I’m almost completely livid now.

"I'm not your babysitter." His jaw tightens. "I'm the person standing between you and whoever's threatening to—" He stops abruptly.

"To what?" I challenge, moving closer to him. "What exactly did they threaten to do to me, Brian? Since this concerns my life, don't you think I deserve to know?"

We're standing close now. Close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes. Close enough to feel his breath when he speaks.

"They threatened to take you," he says. His voice is low. "To make you disappear where your father would never find you. After that they'd—" He stops again, but I can fill in the blanks myself.

A shiver runs through me, but I refuse to show fear. Instead, I lift my chin defiantly. "And what if I don't want to follow your rules?" I challenge. "What if I decide to go out with friends, stay late on campus, and live my life? Will you stop me physically?"

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he steps forward, forcing me back until I'm pressed against the wall. He places one hand on the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in without actually touching me.

"Yes," he says simply. His face is now mere inches from mine. "If that's what it takes to keep you alive, I will physically stop you from putting yourself in danger."

My heart pounds violently in my chest, but it’s not entirely from fear. His proximity does something strange to my body. It’s sending heat coursing through me even as I defy his authority.

"You can't control me," I whisper, but the words lack conviction.

"This isn't about control." His voice drops lower, sending another wave of unwanted heat through me. "This is about protection. There's a difference."

I'm well aware of how close we are, how his body almost touches mine, how I can smell that subtle cologne again, and how his eyes seem to darken as they meet mine. For a moment, his gaze drops down to my lips, and something shifts in the atmosphere between us.

The moment stretches as if it’s charged with something strong. I find myself wondering what would happen if I leaned forward just slightly, and closed the small gap between us.

Then, as though he catches himself, Brian abruptly steps back. He runs a hand through his short hair, looking unsettled a bit.

"Wear the necklace," he says. His professional facade is back in place. "Follow the protocols. This isn't a negotiation."

My skin still tingles where we were almost touching. I grab the necklace from the counter, and slip it over my head without an argument. It’s not because I'm conceding, but because I need a moment to regain my composure.

"Fine," I mutter. "But I don't have to like it."

"Like it or not, it's happening." He checks his watch. "We’re leaving in five minutes."

When he walks away, I press my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. What just happened? Why did I feel so... affected when he stood close to me? He's my bodyguard, for God's sake. An employee of my father's. He’s sixteen years older than me.

And yet, I can't shake the feeling that something shifted between us just now. That for a split second, he wasn't seeing me as a security assignment but as a woman. The way his eyes darkened, the way they dropped to my lips...

No. I must be imagining things. I’m just projecting my own confused reactions onto him. Brian Anderson is a professional. He's here to do a job, nothing more.

Still, as I gather my things for class, I can't help but wonder if he felt it too: that moment of electric tension that had nothing to do with our argument and everything to do with how close our bodies were.

I touch the pendant now hanging around my neck. It’s a constant reminder that I'm being watched, protected. It feels just like a connection to Brian.

The thought sends another wave of unwanted heat through me. This arrangement is going to be much more complicated than I ever imagined.