In love with an Assassin

A bodyguard in disguise

Chapter 2: A Bodyguard in Disguise

(Isabella’s POV)

Most people think that being a bodyguard is all about muscle. You know, standing tall, wearing a suit, and looking intimidating. That’s what clients are paying for. They hardly ever notice the small details, like the way I scan every exit, how I gauge distances, or the silence that fills the space between my steps. I learned all that long before I ever started calling myself a security consultant.

My name’s Isabella Bluebell, at least that’s the name I go by now. The Order gave me other names—names tied up in blood and history. I wanted to leave those behind.

It was a Tuesday morning when I got the call about Kevin White. His team mentioned he was facing threats and needed someone discreet—a temporary gig, but with decent pay. I didn't think twice. It was perfect for keeping me under the radar. Bodyguard, consultant, whatever title kept the prying questions away.

I met with his head of security first—a guy who carried himself like he owned every step he took. He asked for my resume and references. I handed him some forged documents that made me look like a former private contractor. He barely glanced at them. Most people don’t look too closely. They see the scar on my jaw, that thin line running from jaw to chin, and they assume it’s from a bar fight or a bad accident. Nobody thinks it might come from something darker.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and memories flooded back as they always do. A girl standing in a cold room, her hands bloodied from gripping a blade for too long. A man’s voice correcting her stance, demanding silence even while her ribs ached from the last hit. Years of training had turned me into a weapon, moving faster, striking harder, breathing quieter. The Order shaped me into what I was, and when I escaped, they let me live, thinking I wouldn’t survive.

But here I was.

The next day, I got briefed on Kevin’s schedule—meetings, events, galas. His life was like a stage, with every moment feeling like a performance. I didn’t meet him right away; instead, I did my homework, studying him like I do with every client before I step in.

Finding information on him was easy. Kevin White, twenty-eight, CEO of White Label. The tabloids painted him as charming, ruthless, and brilliant. Photos showed him laughing in expensive suits, a drink in hand, women by his side. But when I saw him in person for the first time, I noticed something the photos didn’t capture. His smile faded too quickly when he thought no one was watching. His gaze moved around the room like he was unsure of who to trust. It was the look of a man carrying a heavy burden he didn’t share.

That intrigued me more than his wealth or notoriety.

When we finally shook hands, his grip was strong, confident, almost playful. "So you’re the one they sent to keep me alive," he said, his green eyes glinting as if he was testing me.

"I’m just here to do my job," I replied, keeping my tone flat.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. I could tell he was used to people bending to his charm. I wasn’t one of them.

We kept things strictly professional. I followed his schedule, always two steps behind, blending into the shadows. He’d make small talk, and I’d shut it down. That’s how I operated. Keeping my distance kept things simple—and kept me safe.

But Kevin was hard to ignore. He naturally drew people in, they leaned closer, laughed harder at his jokes, mirrored his movements. I hung back, silent, watching him play the perfect businessman. I also caught the little moments in between—the quick frown when he thought nobody was looking, the heavy silence that followed after the crowd moved on. That’s when his guard came down, when he looked more human, more vulnerable.

I reminded myself not to fall for it. Vulnerability wasn’t my issue. My role was to keep him alive; that was it.

By the week's end, his team insisted I move into his estate for constant coverage. I agreed, though I wasn’t thrilled about living under the same roof as a guy who had a way of asking too many questions with just his eyes.

When I arrived with my one bag, the housekeeper led me to the guest wing. The place was massive, too polished for my taste—white walls, glass windows, and expensive art everywhere. It smelled like money and emptiness.

Kevin showed up in the hallway as I was setting my bag down. No suit this time, just jeans and a shirt that made him look a bit younger, less like a corporate figure and more like a guy looking for peace.

"Settling in?" he asked, leaning against the wall as if we were already friends.

"Just getting organized," I said.

His smile flickered, not quite reaching his eyes. "Right. Always working."

I didn’t respond. He seemed to wait for me to say more but then let out a soft laugh and walked away.

I shut the door to my room, sat on the bed, and took a deep breath. Living here meant I’d have to keep a closer watch on him, protect him even more, all while keeping my own defenses high. The Order was still out there. The scar on my jaw reminded me every time I looked in a mirror. I’d traded one life for another, but the past didn’t just vanish.

I glanced out the window at the city lights twinkling in the distance. Somewhere out there, shadows were still after me. For now, though, my mission was clear: Protect Kevin White. Stay hidden. And hope he never saw through the mask I wore.