GUARDED FLAMES

CHAPTER ONE : THE BODYGUARD

EVANGELINE-18 YEARS OLD

They always said money could protect you.

My father believed it. My tutors whispered it. Even the tabloids played along with the illusion—photos of me stepping out of black cars, dressed in silk, lips glossed and smiling, like life was something soft.

But they didn’t hear the gunshots.

They didn’t feel the way marble turns cold and slick beneath your palms when you fall to the ground, when your breath catches mid-scream and you wonder if this—this—is where it all ends.

I didn’t even see where it came from.

Just the sound. One sharp crack that split the air like lightning.

And then—

“Down!”

A hand—huge, rough, fast—grabbed me from behind, yanking me so hard I stumbled and smacked into a chest like a brick wall. Another shot exploded, the bullet singing past my ear before shattering one of my father’s stupid antique vases.

Nikolai shoved me behind him like I weighed nothing. He pulled out his gun in a smooth, practiced motion, crouching low, eyes scanning the shadows outside the glass doors.

We waited. Silent. My heartbeat was so loud I thought it might give us away.

Then: nothing. Silence again. The kind that prickled at your skin and made every inch of you feel too loud.

“Into the SUV. Now.”

His voice was sharp. Low. The kind of voice that didn’t tolerate questions.

I was still trembling when he grabbed my wrist and hauled me up. We ran—well, I tripped and stumbled while he practically dragged me—to the black SUV parked outside the mansion’s front steps. The engine was already running. One of the drivers must’ve known something was coming.

He opened the back door and shoved me inside. “Get down.”

“I’m not a child,” I snapped, even as I ducked.

“You’re acting like one.”

The door slammed shut and he got in after me, slamming the lock with his palm. The driver didn’t say a word—just peeled off down the long, winding driveway like the devil himself was chasing us.

My heart was still pounding.

“You said it was safe,” I hissed, staring at the man next to me. “You promised.”

“I didn’t promise,” Nikolai said flatly. “I assessed. And I was wrong.”

I hated how calm he was. Like he hadn’t just nearly gotten me killed. Like this was normal.

Maybe for him, it was.

I turned away, furious. Not just at him. At all of it. The guards. The threats. My father’s silence.

My life didn’t used to be like this. Before the enemies got bold. Before the threats started arriving with names attached.

Before Nikolai Vance.

I stared out the tinted window, trying to ignore how close he was. But even without looking, I could feel him.

He was always still. That was what scared me most. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t shift. Just… existed. Silent and watchful. A permanent shadow.

And God help me, I’d never felt safer with anyone else.

“I want answers,” I said finally. “Who sent the shooter?”

“You’ll have to ask your father.”

I bit back a curse. “I am asking him. Through you. That’s your job, right? To be his mouthpiece? His muscle?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he turned, his dark eyes meeting mine—and for the first time, I saw something flicker there. Annoyance. Or maybe disappointment.

“I’m not your father’s mouthpiece. I’m your shield. There’s a difference.”

I didn’t know why that shut me up. Maybe because of the way he said it. Quietly. Almost like it mattered to him.

Almost like I mattered.

Nikolai turned away and looked out the opposite window, and the moment slipped away.

The rest of the ride was silent. When we pulled into the underground garage, he stepped out first, scanned the area, then opened my door.

I hesitated. “You don’t even flinch when people try to kill us.”

He raised a brow. “You flinched enough for both of us.”

It was the closest thing to a joke I’d ever heard from him.

I stepped out, brushing past him. “Maybe next time they’ll aim better.”

“Maybe next time you’ll listen when I say stay inside.”

There it was again—that spark between us. A thin line stretched tight with tension.

And underneath it, something heavier. Something he tried so hard to bury.

I saw it sometimes, in the way his fingers twitched when they got too close to mine. In the way he always avoided standing too near, too long. Like he was afraid he might burn me. Or worse—want me.

I didn’t know what his past was. Only that it was ugly. Deep. And every time he looked at me like I was dangerous, I wondered what he saw.

Not a mafia princess.

Not a rich girl.

Just... a girl he couldn’t let himself want.

But he would.

Eventually.