His Illicit Obsession

The gates of St. Regis University split open like the jaws of some quiet, gilded beast. Perfectly manicured lawns stretched out in every direction, bordered by stone buildings that looked more like castles than classrooms. Black Bentleys and silver Porsches dotted the drive like chess pieces, each vehicle whispering one truth louder than the last…only the rich survive here. And Amira Kingston was richer than most. She sat cross legged in the backseat of a matte black SUV, one AirPod in, Chanel shades perched low on her nose, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just left behind a mansion with thirty six bedrooms and the kind of father who could buy this entire university and turn it into a private vineyard if he wanted. Her expression was unreadable, that perfect heiress mask carved into her face like it had been there since birth. Freedom. That’s what today was supposed to be about. No more 24/7 tutors. No more family meetings with world leaders. No more ridiculous “media grooming” sessions. She was eighteen. Finally. Finally out of her father’s grasp. She adjusted her crop top, smoothing a wrinkle from the cashmere fabric, and glanced out the window. Dozens of students were already swarming the campus with rolling suitcases, Starbucks cups, and excited chatter. Some laughed, others FaceTimed their parents, already crying. Amira smirked. Amateurs. “Almost there, Miss Kingston,” came a low voice from the driver’s seat. Her gaze snapped forward. The man driving her wasn’t her usual chauffeur. This one was younger. Tall, maybe six-foot-three, broad-shouldered even beneath his plain black T-shirt. Short dark hair, jaw clenched tight, arms covered in tattoos that peeked just beneath the hem of his sleeves. And quiet. Too quiet. She narrowed her eyes. “Where’s Bernard?” “Off rotation,” the man said flatly. His voice was gravel, low and smooth like something dangerous was always hiding beneath it. “I’m your new assignment.” She scoffed. “Assignment? What are you, a robot?” “I’m your bodyguard.” The air changed. Amira blinked once. Twice. There was no answer. “Jesus, my dad is actually insane.” Still nothing. No response. “You don’t even look like a bodyguard. You look like someone who’d fail the entrance exam at TSA.” His grip on the wheel didn’t falter. Amira leaned back, her tone turning more taunting. “What’s your name, soldier boy?” “…Jace.” That was it. One word. Like he’d tasted the rest and spit it out. “Well, Jace,” she said, dragging his name like silk across sand, “let’s make this very clear. I don’t need you. I don’t want you. And I definitely don’t want someone following me around like I’m a toddler with a leash.” “Noted.” “You really think you can keep up with me?” “I don’t plan to keep up,” he said calmly. “I plan to keep you alive.” The SUV came to a halt in front of Crescent Hall—her new dorm. Outside, students buzzed around like bees in a Gucci hive. Security guards swarmed the area, loading her trunks and coordinating like it was a covert military operation. People stared. Of course they did. Amira Kingston was a name, a brand, a headline waiting to happen. She smirked, adjusting her glasses again before opening the door. But Jace beat her to it. He rounded the car with the kind of casual authority that made her pulse do something stupid. He pulled open the passenger door, holding it without looking at her. Like she was nothing special. No reaction. No awe. She hated it. She swung her legs out, head high. “Do you always act like a robot or is that just for me?” “I only speak when necessary.” “Oh? So you’re the strong, silent type?” “No. I just don’t enjoy meaningless conversations.” That was the last straw. She snapped her head toward him, eyes flashing. “You work for me, you know that, right? Or at least for my father. Which makes you a glorified employee. So maybe act like it.” “I know exactly who I work for,” he said, not even flinching. “And it’s not you.” Her mouth parted, stunned into silence. For once. He turned before she could reply, already moving toward the lobby. His stride was effortless. Relaxed. She stared after him. What the hell was his deal? *** The room they gave her was top tier. Cathedral ceilings. Gold hardware. A marble bathroom with a rainfall shower. They even installed triple security locks and digital monitoring, which she knew her father had arranged just to keep tabs. Her things were already being unpacked by assistants in black suits. Jace stood at the far corner, back against the wall, arms crossed. Watching. Always watching. She tried to ignore him. Tried to act like the Chanel perfume she was spritzing mattered more than the way his eyes followed her every move. But her fingers trembled slightly when she picked up her lipstick. Annoying. “Do you sleep standing up too?” she finally snapped. “No,” he replied. “I’ll be down the hall.” “Of course. Like a dog.” “If it keeps you breathing, I don’t mind.” She turned fully toward him, hands on her hips. “Is that how you see yourself? Some attack dog on a leash?” “No,” he said again. “Just the leash.” Their eyes locked. Tension thickened. It wrapped around the air like static before a storm. She should’ve said something sharp. Something cruel. Instead, she looked away first. *** Hours passed. She went to the student welcome mixer and ignored every invitation to dance. Smiled for the photos. Tossed back a flute of champagne. Rejected two phone numbers. Gave one out just to stir chaos. Jace was always in the background. At one point, she looked over her shoulder and caught him staring at her from a distance…half in the shadows, arms crossed again. His eyes were unreadable. He was watching her like he was memorizing her from the inside out. She told herself it was creepy. But it didn’t feel like fear. It felt like heat. *** That night, back in her dorm, she peeled off her heels and collapsed onto the velvet sofa, her legs aching. Tara, her roommate, was already half asleep in the other room, her phone glued to her face. Music from the next dorm pulsed faintly through the walls. Jace hadn’t said a word since returning. She glanced at her bedroom door. Knew he was still awake down the hall. She got up quietly and walked to her full-length mirror. Ran her hands down her silk pajama shorts. Adjusted her tank top. Smoothed her hair. Why did she care? He was just some employee. Some thug hired to babysit her. But the way he looked at her… Not with hunger. Not even with respect. Amira turned off the lights. But sleep didn’t come easily.