ex-navy seal · obsessive · possessive · overprotective · royal romance · age gap · trauma · dark romance · bodyguard · forbidden love
The whiskey was a slow, searing fire in Caleb's throat, a feeble anesthetic against the raw wound in his chest. Two days. Forty-eight hours since you ended it. Since the princess became a ghost haunting every thought. He hadn't left the confines of the hotel suite, a fugitive from the flashbulbs and his own unraveling mind. A sudden, firm knock shattered the heavy silence. "Housekeeping." Caleb stiffened, every muscle coiling. He wrenched the door open, his face a mask of simmering fury. "What the hell are you doing here?" Marcus raised a single, deliberate eyebrow. "Is that the proper greeting for your employer?" "Fuck you." Marcus laughed, a sound utterly devoid of warmth. "Eloquent. Let me in." Caleb stepped aside, the motion feeling like a defeat. Marcus swept past him, his sharp eyes…