My Father’s bodyguard: Our secret Obsession

Trixie’s POV The bathroom was a tomb of white steam, a thick, suffocating veil that clung to the back of my throat. It was heavy, damp, and smelled faintly of expensive eucalyptus—the scent of my father’s wealth, and the looming dread I couldn’t shake. The mirror had already vanished behind a layer of gray fog, erasing my reflection until I was nothing but a ghost in my own home. I stayed under the spray long after my skin had turned a dull, angry red, the water pelting my shoulders like gravel. I wanted the heat to scrub the thoughts out of my head. I wanted to be clean—not just from the day, but from the quiet, persistent guilt of wanting something that didn’t belong to me. Something forbidden by every law of my father’s world. It never worked. No matter how loud the water roared, I could still feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Darian Cross. He wasn’t a family friend, and he certainly wasn't the "Uncle" the tabloids lazily labeled him as to explain his constant presence. He was the shadow in the foyer. He was the silent, lethal force that stood three paces behind me at every gala, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning the room like a predator looking for a reason to kill. He was my bodyguard. My jailer. My obsession. I stepped out of the shower, the cold air of the bedroom hitting my damp skin like a slap. Tonight was supposed to be different. For months, I had been the "Porcelain Doll of the Vale Empire," paraded around to satisfy my father’s investors. But tonight, my parents were in London for a merger, leaving me in this echoing mausoleum with nothing but my thoughts and the silent man downstairs. I had a goal. One of the few friends I had left—or at least, the only person who still dared to text me—had told me about a party at the Blackwood estate. It wasn’t just a party; it was a chance to meet a contact who supposedly had information about my mother’s "accidental" death five years ago. My father had buried the police report, but a girl in my position learns that secrets are the only real currency. I checked the clock: 10:00 p.m. My heart gave a frantic, jagged skip. I ignored the maid’s calls about dinner. If I stayed, I’d just be the quiet girl in the big house, waiting for life to start while Darian watched the security feeds. I dressed in a dark, silk slip dress—too short, too thin, and entirely too provocative for a "VIP Asset." I flicked my eyeliner into sharp wings, a costume of rebellion. I slipped out through the servant’s entrance, a route I’d mapped out weeks ago. For the first time in three years, I ditched my shadow. I climbed into a waiting taxi, leaning my head against the cold window as the city lights blurred into long, yellow streaks. Tonight, I wasn't a job. I was a woman looking for the truth. The Blackwood party was a physical wall of sound. The bass thumped in my teeth, vibrating through my ribcage until it was the only thing I could feel. The air was a thick soup of spilled expensive vodka, heavy perfume, and the kind of desperate energy that only comes from rich kids with too much time and not enough soul. "There you are," a voice hissed. I turned, and my stomach dropped. Kane Blackwood. Kane was the son of my father’s most ruthless business rival, a boy who thought he was a man because he had a black card and a fast car. He looked at me like I was a trophy he was about to break. "The little bird finally flew the coop," Kane sneered, appearing through the haze. He didn't just stand near me; he invaded my space, his hand snaking out to grip my upper arm with bruising force. "Where’s your guard-dog, Trixie? Did he finally get tired of watching you from the corners?" "Let go, Kane," I whispered, trying to pull away. "Relax," he jeered, shoving a plastic cup toward my face. The liquid inside smelled like pure chemicals. "Don't be such a church mouse. Your father is halfway across the world. He won't know if you have a little fun. Or maybe I should tell him you’re here, digging into things that don't concern you?" My blood ran cold. He knew why I was here. "I said drink," Kane hissed, his fingers digging deeper. He leaned in, his breath hot and smelling of menthol. "You think you're better than us? You're just a pretty little check Marcus hasn't cashed yet." I shook my head, my throat closing up. The glass tipped—deliberately—and the ice-cold liquid splashed across my chest, stinging my skin and soaking into the thin fabric of my dress, making it translucent under the neon lights. The laughter that followed felt jagged and cruel. "Shy little cat," Kane hissed, pulling me closer. "Let's see if you scream as quiet as you talk." Panic, cold and electric, surged through my limbs. I shoved him—harder than I thought I could—and bolted. I heard the sickening screech of fabric tearing as I caught my dress on a chair, but I didn't care. I ran out into the night, the humid air hitting my lungs like a shock. I didn't look at the road. I just wanted to get away from the noise, the hands, the failure of it all. Two blinding white suns appeared out of the dark. A screech of tires that sounded like a dying animal. A thud that I felt in my marrow before I felt the pain. I felt myself fly, the world spinning into a kaleidoscope of asphalt and stars, and then, everything went black. Darian’s POV: The Broken Oath The hospital was too bright. It felt like a sterile interrogation room, all white surfaces and the cloying, metallic smell of antiseptic. I stood in the hallway for a long minute, my hands buried deep in my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. My jaw was set so tight it felt like the bone might snap. I have handled boardrooms full of sharks and negotiated extraction points in war zones without a single bead of sweat. I was trained to be the immovable object. But the sight of Trixie Vale—the girl I had spent three years watching, wanting, and protecting—broken in a hospital bed made the iron in my chest feel like it was melting into lead. I stepped inside. The soft, rhythmic beep-beep of the machines was the only sound, a steady reminder of how close the world had come to stopping. I shouldn't be here like this. I was her bodyguard. A mercenary hired for my lack of sentimentality. But the lines I had drawn years ago—the ones I’d reinforced with ice and distance—were blurring into nothing. I had spent every night for a thousand days watching her sleep through a security monitor, telling myself it was "surveillance." Then she had ditched me tonight. She had slipped the leash, and I had spent two hours in a blind, murderous panic hunting her down. I had arrived at the Blackwood estate just in time to see her vanish into the night, and I had been fifty yards away when the black SUV struck her. It wasn't an accident. The driver hadn't braked. He had accelerated. "Trixie," I said quietly. Her eyes fluttered open. They were cloudy, lost in the fog of painkillers, but then they locked onto mine. "Darian...?" My name on her lips made my chest tighten to the point of physical pain. "Don't move," I said, my voice harsher than I intended. "Your leg... it was dislocated. You have a concussion. Someone tried to kill you tonight, Trixie. This wasn't a hit-and-run. It was an execution attempt." Her breath hitched. "Kane... he knew I was there for the files." "Kane is a dead man walking," I snapped. My knuckles were still bruised from the encounter in the parking lot with the lookout I’d caught. I hadn't used my gun. I’d wanted to feel his bones break under my hands for touching what was mine. "My parents...?" "They’re still in the air. But I’ve already spoken to your father." I pulled a document from my jacket, the paper crisp and heavy. "He’s terrified, Trixie. The Blackwoods are moving on the Vale assets, and they’ve targeted you to send a message. He knows he can’t protect you in that house anymore." I leaned in closer, the scent of my own cologne mixing with the sharp, clinical smell of the room. I could feel her eyes on me, searching my face for a crack in the armor. "So he signed it," I whispered. "The Guardianship Contract. As of ten minutes ago, I have total legal control over your safety, your residence, and your movements until the threat is neutralized. You aren't going back to the Vale estate." "Where am I going?" she whispered, her voice like crushed velvet. "You're coming to my house. My private residence. Where no one—not even your father—can get to you without my permission." I saw the pulse jumping in her neck, the way her eyes darkened with a mixture of fear and the same hunger that was currently devouring me. The professional barrier was gone. The bodyguard was dead. There was only the predator. "Get some rest," I said, my voice dropping to a low, commanding hum. "Because when you wake up, the rules you’ve lived by are gone. I'm done watching from the corners, Trixie. I'm taking what's mine." I turned to leave, needing the cold air of the hallway, but as I reached the door, it swung open with a violence that made the glass rattle. Marcus Vale stood there. He wasn't supposed to be here for another four hours. He was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, darting from his daughter’s broken form to me—standing too close, looking too undone, my shirt unbuttoned at the collar and my knuckles stained with blood. Marcus didn't look at Trixie. He looked at the contract in my hand, then at the look of raw, unchecked possession on my face. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He hadn't just hired a bodyguard; he had invited a wolf into the fold, and the wolf had finally stopped pretending to be a dog. "Darian," Marcus said, his voice a low, vibrating growl of pure betrayal. "The contract was for her safety. Tell me you didn't just use my fear to sign her life over to you." I shifted my stance, shielding Trixie’s bed with my body, my hand moving instinctively toward the holster at my hip. "You should have stayed in London, Marcus," I said, my voice dead and cold. "Because the contract is already filed. And she isn't your daughter anymore... she's my responsibility." The two men from my own security team stepped into the doorway behind Marcus, but they didn't look at him. They looked at me, waiting for the signal to move against their former employer. The silence was a bomb waiting to go off. "I'm taking her now," I said. "And if you try to stop me, Marcus... I'll show you exactly why you paid me the big bucks."