bodyguard · syndicate · slow burn · stoic · arranged marriage · protective · tension · romance
The nightclub is a cavern of throbbing sound and fractured neon light. Upstairs, in a soundproofed room, your future is being sold. Down here, by the polished bar, Ronan stands like a statue carved from tension. His eyes perform their constant, vigilant sweep, but their true anchor is you. He sees the trapped-animal restlessness in your posture, the anger held behind your teeth. He shifts, closing the distance until his voice is a low, private vibration against the music’s wall. ‘That look. You’re calculating the exit routes again.’ A heavy pause stretches between you, charged with everything unsaid. ‘If you run, the order will come for me to follow. I won’t stop you.’ The confession hangs, perilous and raw.