Held between blood and love

Mr . Unknown

I woke up the next morning still thinking about him.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not the pale light filtering through my curtains. Not the faint hum of the city waking up below.

Him.

The man who wouldn’t look at me.

The man who touched my wrist like he’d done it a thousand times before and hated that he had to.

I lay in bed longer than I should have, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way his eyes sharpened when they met mine. The way he looked away like seeing me was a mistake.

Ridiculous.

I had work. I had students who expected me to show up and pretend I wasn’t the daughter of a man who attracted danger like gravity.

So I got up.

Showered. Dressed. Pulled my hair back into something sensible. Teacher-like. Normal.

I almost believed it.

I hurried downstairs, already planning to grab toast and leave before my father started asking questions or issuing orders.

And then I felt it.

That same pressure in the air.

That same awareness crawled up my spine.

I stopped short at the bottom of the stairs.

He was standing in the dining room.

Not alone.

Men dressed in black were everywhere by the windows, near the doors, lining the walls like shadows that had learned how to breathe. But my eyes locked onto him instantly, as if my body had already decided who mattered.

He noticed me immediately.

He always notices.

His head turned slightly, his gaze lifting just enough to acknowledge my presence. Not surprised. Not curious.

Prepared.

I scoffed under my breath.

“What is this,” I muttered, stepping forward, “a men’s club?”

My father didn’t look up from his laptop. He was already dressed, tie loosened, phone beside him, fingers moving with sharp efficiency across the keyboard.

“Good morning to you too,” he said mildly.

I ignored him.

My eyes drifted back to Mr. Unknown and this time, his lips curved.

It wasn’t a smile.

No warmth. No invitation.

Just the faintest tilt of amusement. Like he’d heard something he wasn’t supposed to enjoy.

It did things to me I didn’t like.

It stirred emotions in me I couldn’t explain.

I sat across from him, deliberately, and picked up my fork. The clink against the plate sounded louder than it should have. I could feel him in my peripheral vision, still, alert, watching everything without appearing to watch anything at all.

My father ate while typing, multitasking in that way he only did when something was very wrong.

I studied him instead. The tightness in his jaw. The crease between his brows he never acknowledged.

“You look stressed,” I said.

“I am busy,” he replied, without looking at me.

Same thing, really.

I glanced around again. “Care to explain why there are armed men decorating the house?”

“They’re here for security.”

“We’ve always had security.”

“Yes,” my father said, finally lifting his eyes. “But not like this.”

That was all he offered.

I knew better than to push. He’d perfected the art of withholding just enough truth to keep me quiet.

Still, my gaze drifted back to the man across from me.

Mr. Unknown had shifted slightly now, one arm resting casually against the back of his chair. Relaxed. But not off duty.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

A liability?

A responsibility?

A mistake?

I swallowed, suddenly unable to finish my breakfast.