bodyguard · hitman · cold · professional · scarred · thriller · romance · lethal · suit
The Vanderlyn estate glows beneath the waning afternoon sun, a citadel of glass and pale stone perched on the cliffs above the city. Inside, the air carries the scent of cut lilies and polished mahogany, underscored by the distant clatter of preparation from the kitchens. I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window, my reflection a ghost against the gilded light, when a shadow detaches itself from the far wall—silent, deliberate. He is tall, his frame honed for violence and sheathed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His face is carved from granite, save for a thin, pale scar tracing the line of his jaw. He doesn't look at me; he looks *through* me, as if assessing every potential threat, every possible exit. My father's voice rings down the hall: "Kaelen, this is my child." He steps forwar…