The CEO And Her Bodyguard

10: The Glass Armor

Rebekkah's POV.

“You need to look like a survivor, not a victim, Isabella. Put the diamonds on,” Michael said, his voice boomed through the quiet of the hotel suite like a blow.

I sat at the vanity, staring at my reflection. I didn't look like a survivor. I looked like someone who had been pulled through a meat grinder and slapped with a coat of expensive foundation. My hands were still shaking, just a little, so I hid them in the folds of my silk robe.

Michael stood behind me, holding a necklace that cost more than most people made in a decade. It was thick, heavy, and covered in emeralds. He leaned down and snapped the clasp shut. The metal felt cold against my skin. It felt like a collar.

“It’s too much, Michael,” I whispered, touching the stones. “I’m going to a press briefing, not an opera.”

“It’s perfect,” he countered. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the way the light hit the jewels. “It says you’re unbroken. It says the Grant empire is standing tall.”

I looked past Michael’s shoulder. Derek was standing by the bedroom door. He had changed into a dark charcoal suit that made him look even bigger, more dangerous. He wasn't supposed to be watching us get ready, but he didn't care about the rules. He was scanning the room, his eyes moving from the window to the door.

For a second, Derek’s gaze landed on the necklace. I saw his jaw tighten. A tiny facial twitch happened at the corner of his mouth. He hated it. He knew I hated heavy jewelry. He remembered the simple silver chain I used to wear in Barcelona. In that one look, he told me he saw through the costume Michael was forcing me to wear.

“We’re leaving in five minutes,” Michael said, checking his watch. He patted my shoulder like I was a prize horse and walked into the lounge to grab his briefcase.

I stayed in the chair, staring at the emeralds. I felt like I was suffocating. I reached up, my fingers fumbling with the clasp, but I couldn't get it open. My breath hitched. The room felt like it was moving in.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. Derek was standing behind me. He didn't say a word. He just reached out, his large, warm fingers brushing against the back of my neck. I froze. The heat from his touch sent a jolt straight down my spine.

He unclipped the emeralds in one smooth motion. He set the necklace on the table without a sound.

“Wear the pearls,” he said. His voice was a low rumble, barely more than a breath against my ear. “They’re lighter. You need to be able to move.”

I looked at him in the mirror, my heart was thumping. He wasn't being romantic. He was being tactical. He knew if we had to run, a heavy gold chain was just something for an attacker to grab. But the way he looked at the curve of my neck made me feel like the room was on fire.

“Isabella! Let’s go!” Michael shouted.

Derek stepped back instantly, his face turning back into that unreadable mask. I quickly grabbed a simple strand of pearls and put them on. My hands weren't shaking anymore.

The ride to the office was a nightmare. We were in the back of a blacked-out SUV. Michael was on his headset, shouting at someone in the London office about stock prices.

“I don’t care about the police report!” Michael snapped. “I want the headline to be about the merger. Isabella is fine. She’s going to smile, say a few words about resilience, and then we sign. Keep the reporters away from the bodyguard. I don’t want people thinking she needs a shadow to go to the bathroom.”

I sat stiffly, staring out the window. My eyes kept drifting to the rearview mirror.

Derek was in the front passenger seat. He was sitting perfectly still, but in the mirror, I could see his eyes. He was watching me. He was watching the way Michael was ignoring me.

Our eyes locked in that tiny silver rectangle. He didn't smile. He just adjusted his grip on the door handle, his knuckles turning white. He was a silent reminder that while Michael was preparing a stage, Derek was preparing for a war.

“Isabella, listen to me,” Michael said, grabbing my hand. His grip was sweaty. “When we get out, stay close to me. Don’t answer any questions about the gunmen. Just talk about the future. About us. Got it?”

“Michael, I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “I keep seeing their faces. The guns.”

“You’re a Grant,” Michael said, his voice turning cold. “Don’t embarrass me out there.”

The car slowed down near the Grant Plaza. Even from a block away, I could see the sea of camera flashes.

“We’re not stopping at the front,” Derek said. It was the first time he’d spoken since we left the hotel.

“Yes, we are,” Michael countered. “I want the shot of her walking into the building. It’s the money shot, Kane. Get us to the door.”

“It’s a security risk,” Derek said, his voice dropping. “The crowd is too deep. We’re taking the basement entrance.”

“I’m the one who pays the bills, Derek,” Michael hissed. “Stop the car at the front. Now.”

The driver looked at Derek, then at Michael. Derek didn't argue. He just reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, forcing the car toward the side ramp that led to the private garage.

“What the hell are you doing?” Michael yelled.

Derek turned his head just enough to look Michael in the eye. The look was so dangerous that Michael actually flinched back.

“I’m keeping her alive,” Derek said. “Which is more than you can say.”

The car plunged into the dark of the garage. Michael was fuming, his face turning a dark shade of red, but he didn't say another word. He was terrified of the man in the front seat.

The car stopped. Derek opened my door and reached in. He didn't grab my hand like a fiancé. He grabbed my upper arm, his grip firm, and pulled me out. Michael scrambled out the other side, straightening his suit.

“You’re fired for this, Kane,” Michael spat. “As soon as we’re upstairs, you’re done.”

Derek didn't even look at him. “You can fire me when she’s safe inside. Until then, stay behind me.”

We moved toward the elevators. As the doors slid open in the lobby, the roar of applause was deafening. Thousands of staff members were clapping, shouting my name.

Michael immediately put on his public face. He beamed at the crowd, waving his hand, looking like a king returning from victory.

I felt like a fraud. I looked at the sea of smiling faces, and all I could see were the black masks of the men who had tried to kill me.

I looked at Derek. He was the only person in the room who wasn't clapping. He was standing three feet behind me, his back to the crowd, his eyes scanning the balconies. He didn't care about the applause.

He was the only one who saw the real me.

As Michael led me toward the stage, the crowd pushed forward. Michael got separated from me, caught up in shaking hands with board members.

A man in a heavy coat pushed past the security line, reaching for my shoulder. I froze, my throat closing up.

Suddenly, a solid wall of black moved in front of me. Derek stepped between us, his hand landing on the small of my back. It wasn't a hug; it was tactical.

But through my blazer, his palm felt like a brand. It was warm, heavy, and steady. For a second, I leaned into him.

“Keep moving, Isabella,” he whispered.

He used my name.

I took a breath and stepped onto the stage, the heat of his hand still burning on my skin. I looked at Michael, who was now waving at the cameras, and then I looked at Derek, who had disappeared back into the shadows.

The war was here. And for the first time, I knew whose side I was on.