The CEO And Her Bodyguard

9: The Silent Watch

Rebekkah's POV.

I pushed the heavy double doors of the master bedroom shut, but the click of the lock didn't make me feel any better. The St. Regis was supposed to be the height of luxury, but tonight, the high ceilings and the silk wallpaper felt like they were closing in on me. My skin felt tight, itchy with the dried sweat and the memory of the gunpowder from the villa.

I walked over to the vanity, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. I sat down and looked at myself. I looked like a ghost. My hair was a mess, and my eyes were red from the adrenaline crash. I reached up, my fingers shaking as I unclipped the heavy diamond earrings Michael had bought me for our anniversary. They felt like tiny lead weights. I dropped them onto the marble tabletop, and the sound they made was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

In the living room, I could hear the muffled sound of Michael’s voice. He was back on the phone, probably talking to the legal team now. He was in his element, managing the crisis, turning a night of near-death into a PR win. He hadn't asked if I was okay once since we got to the hotel. He just kept talking about "the brand" and "the merger."

A soft knock at the door made me jump. I didn't even have time to say "come in" before the door pushed open.

It was Derek.

He didn't ask permission. He didn't look at me. He just walked in with that cold, military focus that made my heart do a slow, painful roll. He was still wearing his tactical vest, his large frame filling the doorway. He looked like a wolf that had been forced into a palace.

I watched him in the mirror. He moved to the far side of the room first, checking the balcony locks. He didn't just look at them; he grabbed the handle and yanked it hard, testing the frame. His knuckles were bruised, the skin torn from when he’d fought those men in my hallway. I wanted to get up and go to him. I wanted to grab a first-aid kit and clean those wounds, but the memory of the look he gave me downstairs kept me glued to the chair.

"The balcony is secure," he said. His voice was low, vibrating through the floorboards. It was a professional report, nothing more.

He moved toward the walk-in closet. He walked right behind my chair, his shadow falling over me. I held my breath. I was wearing a thin silk robe, my shoulders bare, and the air shifted as he passed. I could smell him...gunsmoke, rain, and that clean, sharp scent of the soap from the hallway. It was a smell that meant safety. It was a smell that meant the dark wasn't so scary anymore.

He opened the closet door, checking behind the long rows of designer dresses I hadn't even worn yet. He moved a few of them aside, his gloved hand disappearing into the fabric. I watched his reflection, my pulse thumping in my neck. He was so close I could have leaned back and touched his chest.

He finished with the closet and turned back toward the center of the room. Our eyes met in the vanity mirror.

For a second, the world stopped.

The professional mask he wore didn't slip, but I saw the fire behind it. He looked at my bare shoulders, then up to my eyes. He saw the tears I was trying so hard to hide. He saw the way I was trembling. He knew exactly what Michael was doing in the other room...treating me like a trophy instead of a person who had just watched people die.

Derek didn't say he was sorry. He didn't offer a hug. Instead, he reached out. His hand was inches from my face, his fingers almost touching my jaw. I felt the heat from his skin, a burning warmth that made me want to lean into him and never let go.

He didn't touch me, though. He just reached past my head and grabbed the edge of the heavy velvet curtain. With a quick, smooth pull, he closed the gap, blocking out the lights of the city and the prying eyes of the world. He made the room small. He made it private.

"Sleep, Ms. Grant," he said. The words were simple, but the way he said them felt like a promise. "I'm right outside the door. Nobody gets in. Not even the ghosts."

He turned and walked toward the exit. He didn't look back. He didn't give me a chance to say thank you or to apologize for the horrible things I’d said to him in front of Michael. He just left, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made the room feel empty.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the closed curtains.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. This time it was Michael. He walked in with a wide smile, his phone finally tucked away in his pocket. He looked energized, like he’d just won a marathon.

"Good news, babe," he said, walking over and putting his hands on my shoulders. His grip was firm, but it didn't have that warmth Derek’s hand had. "The Times is running the story tomorrow. They’re calling it a 'miracle escape.' We’re doing a live interview at the office at ten. I already told the stylists to meet us there."

I looked at him in the mirror. "An interview, Michael? I almost died tonight. I don't want to talk to the press."

Michael laughed, a short, dismissive sound. "That’s the trauma talking. You’ll feel better once you’re back in the driver's seat. We have to show the world you’re fine. If you hide, the stock drops. You know how this works."

He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "I'm going to take a shower. I’ve got a call with Tokyo in an hour."

He walked into the bathroom, humming a tune, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I looked back at the door. Derek was out there. He was sitting in a chair in the hallway, probably with his hand on his weapon, watching the shadows for me. He was the one who knew I wasn't fine. He was the one who saw the shaking in my hands and the fear in my eyes.

Michael held my hand in public, but Derek held my life in the dark.

I stood up and walked to the bed, pulling back the heavy covers. I lay down, but I didn't close my eyes. I listened to the sound of the shower running and the distant muffled voices from the street below. Every time the building groaned or a door slammed in the hallway, I didn't jump. I didn't feel afraid.

Because I knew who was on the other side of that wood.

I realized then that I was playing a dangerous game. I was engaged to a man who saw me as a business partner, a piece of a puzzle that made him look good. And I was falling for the man who saw me as a mission...a man who didn't even need to touch me to make me feel like I belonged to him.

I turned on my side, looking at the curtain Derek had closed for me. It was a simple gesture, a professional task, but it felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever done for me.

"Three months," I whispered to the empty room.

Three months until I was supposed to marry Michael. Three months of pretending.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time that night, I drifted off. Not because of the luxury of the suite or the security of the hotel, but because I could still feel the heat of Derek’s hand near my face.

I woke up a few hours later. The room was pitch black. Michael was asleep beside me, his breathing heavy and even. He was out cold, totally unaffected by the nightmare we’d just lived through.

I couldn't stay in the bed. I felt like I was suffocating.

I slipped out of the covers, being careful not to wake him. I grabbed my robe and wrapped it tight around my waist. I walked to the door, my bare feet silent on the carpet. I didn't know why I was doing it. I just needed to know he was still there.

I opened the door just a c***k.

The hallway was lit by a dim, yellow light. Derek was there. He wasn't sitting down. He was leaning against the wall opposite my door, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he hadn't moved an inch.

He heard the door. His head snapped toward me, his eyes sharp and alert even in the middle of the night.

"Go back to sleep, Rebekah," he said. He didn't use my title. He didn't use that cold, professional tone. He sounded tired. He sounded human.

"I can't," I whispered, leaning my head against the doorframe.

He looked at me for a long beat. He didn't move toward me, and he didn't look away. He just stood there, a silent shadow in the hallway, guarding a woman who had spent the morning telling him he wasn't good enough.

"The world is still out there," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But it can't get past me tonight. Close the door."

I nodded, my throat tight. I closed the door and leaned my back against it. I didn't feel like a CEO. I didn't feel like a billionaire. I just felt like a girl who was protected.