A Bodyguard For The Misogynist

First Day At The Company

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, brushing my face with warmth as I slowly woke. My muscles ached slightly from the previous day’s tension at the Harrison Estate, but there was no time to linger in bed. Jasmine’s wellbeing, the mounting bills, the looming pressure of loan sharks—all of it pressed on me with unrelenting force. Today had to be perfect, or at least as close to perfect as I could manage.

I swung my legs off the bed and took a steadying breath. Today, I would be Anna, the professional bodyguard, competent, strong, unshakable. No trace of my past, no sign of weakness. Today, my identity, my daughter, and the desperate life I was fighting to protect depended on my ability to perform flawlessly.

I quickly dressed in my corporate attire, carefully choosing my best suit—the one I had purchased with my last savings. Every stitch and fold represented the tiny investments I had made in myself, a statement of professionalism and determination. I tugged the jacket over my shoulders, straightened the collar, and tugged lightly at the pant legs, feeling a spark of pride amidst the nerves. This was not just clothing—it was armor.

Last night, I spoke briefly with Janet. Jasmine, thankfully, had been asleep, her fever having spiked again. Hearing her tiny cough in the distance had twisted something inside me, but I had promised myself to stay strong. Janet had warned me again about the difficulty of the job, but I had reassured her with quiet determination that I would manage. There was no other option. I had to work well and not fail; losing this job was not something I could afford. Every second counted, every decision carried weight.

Stepping out of my room, I paused at the hall and noticed the male servants nearby. Their eyes, wide and fearful, followed my movements as I walked toward the CEO’s room. From their expressions, I could tell they were already bracing themselves for another one of Zayne Harrison’s volatile mornings. I ignored them entirely; fear was not mine to share. My focus was singular, unwavering: Zayne Harrison, the man I would be protecting, whether he liked it or not.

Among the instructions given to me by his mother, there was one that caused my mind to pause. I wasn’t just supposed to protect him. I was also to make sure he followed his schedule, did what he was supposed to do, and generally behaved as a responsible adult. The thought made me inwardly chuckle. Was I guarding a child, perhaps, instead of the most influential CEO in the country? The mental image of Zayne Harrison, exuding power and danger, being forced to behave like a child, was almost comical—if it weren’t so intimidating.

I walked toward his door, carefully holding my posture, my movements smooth and precise. The servants around me continued to stare, frozen, whispering nervously amongst themselves. It was clear from their wide eyes that today might be another morning full of unpredictable chaos, and none of them wanted to be near it. I ignored their fearful glances, my attention solely on the task at hand.

I knocked on his door softly at first, waiting for a response. Silence. Then again, louder, more insistent. My patience was thinning. If he didn’t respond soon, I had no qualms about busting the door open. Authority was not optional here; control was necessary.

“Enter,” his voice finally came, low, commanding. I stepped inside and froze for just a second. Zayne was already dressed in his crisp corporate attire, tie perfectly aligned, suit tailored to perfection. He looked ready for the day, as if he had prepared meticulously in contrast to the chaotic tension I had expected.

I greeted him politely, the words flowing smoothly despite the subtle anxiety coursing through me. But he didn’t even glance at me. His attention was elsewhere, moving past me with his confident, deliberate stride, heading toward the dining area. I followed at a respectful distance, silently noting his movements, the precise control he seemed to exert over every motion.

Breakfast passed in near silence. I observed him keenly, noting the way he ate—quick, precise, efficient. Every movement spoke of control and power. I felt his eyes on me at times, a quiet awareness that prickled my skin, but I ignored it. My focus was singular: the safety and smooth functioning of his day.

Once breakfast ended, I escorted him to the car. Driving him to the company was an exercise in controlled observation. His gaze flickered toward me occasionally, and though there was something unreadable in it, I refused to meet it. Eyes forward, hands steady, mind focused. This was professional conduct.

Arriving at the company, I opened the car door for him. As he stepped out, employees bowed and greeted him, showing a level of reverence that bordered on fear. I couldn’t help but notice the stark imbalance—mostly male workers, with very few female employees. The sight sent a shiver through me. This man, this CEO, commanded an empire that clearly thrived under intense, male-dominated structure. I wondered silently what type of hell I had entered.

Following him toward the VIP area that led to his office, I caught glimpses of employees shifting nervously, observing our movements. His assistant joined him, glancing at me briefly before averting his eyes. It was clear that my presence as a female bodyguard in this environment was unusual, even unsettling to the staff.

At the door to his office, I tried to enter, but the assistant stopped me firmly. “Wait outside,” he said, polite but unmistakably authoritative. I nodded, stepping back, observing the closed door as Zayne disappeared inside.

Inside, the muffled sound of his voice carried authority. He was giving instructions, asking the assistant if the investigation had been completed. The assistant replied that results would come in this afternoon; the investigation was still ongoing, my records well hidden and protected, as I had anticipated.

I leaned lightly against the wall, taking a deep breath. This was the reality of working for Zayne Harrison. Even his administrative procedures carried weight, tension, and expectation. Everything, even the smallest detail, seemed meticulously observed and controlled.

Through the door, I could hear Zayne outlining his schedule for the day. His tone was calm but commanding, precise and calculated. I reminded myself once again why I was here. Jasmine’s safety, her future, and the stability of our lives depended on my performance. There could be no mistakes, no hesitation, no weakness.

As I stood outside the office, the hum of the corporate environment buzzed around me. Employees moved with purpose, machines whirred, phones rang, but nothing penetrated the bubble of my focus. My mind, though alert to every sound, every shadow, every movement, remained fixed on my task: to observe, to protect, to manage, and above all, to endure.

I ran through the mental checklist of the day ahead. Anticipate his moves, ensure his safety, manage schedules, maintain composure. Each step had to be executed with precision. The stakes were higher than ever, and I could not falter.

Minutes stretched into a calm, controlled waiting period. Every detail mattered—the sound of footsteps, the weight of his presence inside the office, the quiet hum of machines outside. This was more than just protection; it was navigation in a delicate environment filled with power, expectation, and unspoken rules.

And all the while, my thoughts kept returning to him: Zayne Harrison. The man whose presence dominated the estate, whose influence radiated even into the corporate world. The same man from six years ago, who had no idea that I was the mother of his child, or the one tasked with guiding, observing, and guarding him through each moment of the day.

I reminded myself once more: I was here for business. Nothing else. No past, no mistakes, no distractions. Just focus. Just vigilance. Just the unyielding determination to do what I had come to do.

Every breath I took, every step I prepared to make, was a reminder of my purpose. Every flicker of Zayne’s presence, every calculated movement, was a test of my resolve. And I would pass it. I had to—for Jasmine, for myself, and for the life I was fighting to protect.