A Bodyguard For The Misogynist

The Storm In The Estate

Meanwhile, at the Harrison Estate, the quiet stillness in Anna’s small apartment was worlds away from the storm raging inside the mansion’s towering, ice‑cold walls.

Zayne Harrison’s voice thundered through the grand study, sharp enough to make even the polished windows tremble.

“What do you mean by that, woman?” he barked into the phone. His tone was so fierce the woman on the other end actually pulled the phone away from her ear before responding.

“You dare not yell at me, son,” his mother thundered back. Her voice was equally powerful—cold authority wrapped in years of experience. “How dare you assign a bodyguard for me without my knowledge?”

“Huh?” Zayne snapped, pacing like a caged beast. “Do I look like a joke or a weakling to you?”

The anger rolling off him felt electric—alive—like standing too close to a storm about to strike. Zayne wasn’t the type to simply be angry. He became the anger. A force. A threat. A hurricane in human form. And anyone unlucky enough to get caught in its path often regretted it.

“Listen, son. She’s very good at her job,” his mother continued, infuriatingly calm in the face of his erupting fury.

“What? You hired a lady as my bodyguard?”

Whoa, that’s insane!” Zayn’s twin brother muttered as he descended the staircase, eyebrows raised.

Zayne turned his head slowly, eyes razor‑sharp. The glare alone was enough to silence a battalion.

Caleb froze. Then, lifting both hands in surrender, he backed away. “Never mind. Carry on.” He retreated before he became the next target of Zayne’s storm.

“I hope I don’t see her in this house,” Zayne roared, “because I’ll cut her head off!”

“If you can do that, I’ll let you,” his mother replied coolly. “She’s ex‑military.”

Her voice held no fear—only certainty. The servants nearby stiffened at her words. Ex‑military? A woman? Inside *this* estate?

Zane scoffed, leaning against the massive mahogany desk, the wood creaking under the tension in his arms.

“Mom, you know I hate anything to do with a woman. They’re all the same.”

“And what about the one from six years ago?” she asked softly, but the question struck like a match to gasoline.

Zane’s jaw tightened. His eyes flickered—just for a split second—with something darker, something deeper. Memory. Regret. Contempt.

“She’s not different,” he muttered coldly. “If she were, she wouldn’t have run away that day.”

His mother exhaled slowly, but she didn’t relent. “You need a bodyguard. Someone with you twenty‑four-seven. Your life is always in danger. You’re the CEO of the Harrison Group, and there are too many people trying to bring you down. You refuse all bodyguards. She’s perfect at what she does, and I trust her.”

Zane’s expression shifted—a tiny flicker beneath all that steel. “What if she refuses the job?”

“She has accepted it,” his mother replied. “Whatever would make her refuse the job would be you .”

The words hung in the air like a warning.

Zane disconnected the call with a single swipe, the force of it echoing through the room. His jaw was rigid, his brows drawn low. He scanned the room slowly—like a predator assessing what could be broken next.

The male servants bowed quickly, eyes lowered. No one breathed too loudly. Everyone knew the stories—how two years ago a young woman came to apply as a cook, only to flee the estate in tears after his ruthless words.

From that day on, no woman set foot in the Harrison Estate.

Not unless they wanted to risk his wrath.

Not unless they wanted their spirit crushed beneath his heel.

“Bunch of fools,” he muttered, his voice low and icy, sending another ripple of fear through the room.

---

Outside the Estate

I stood before the sprawling Harrison Estate, my luggage in hand, staring up at the gates that looked like they were designed to keep out armies—not people. The mansion beyond stood tall, beautiful, overwhelming… a palace carved out of wealth.

But beneath all that beauty was something colder. A silent warning. A breathless kind of quiet that seeped into your bones.

Getting here hadn’t been easy. Even the cab driver hesitated when I told him the address.

“Are you sure?” he had asked, eyes wide. “Nobody normal goes there.”

I had to offer him more money—a week’s worth—just to get him to drive all the way. Even then, he spent the ride telling me stories about a woman he once dropped off at the estate. She ran out crying. Terrified. Shaking.

The closer we got, the quieter he became.

And now, standing here with my suitcase heavy in my hands, I understood why.

Every instinct inside me screamed to turn back. To run.

But I couldn’t.

I tightened my grip on the handle. Jasmine. My baby. My entire world. She needed this job. And I needed the money. I needed stability. Needed the protection my daughter deserved.

The massive iron gates rose before me, towering like a boundary between two worlds. Beyond them, the estate’s manicured gardens stretched out perfectly—too perfect. Like nothing real ever touched them.

I took a breath. Then another.

This wasn’t just a job. It was a battlefield.

Everything I learned in the military… every scar… every sleepless night… every sacrifice…

It all led to this moment.

I straightened my shoulders.