Obsession in the shadows

Chapter 2

END OF FLASHBACK.

He rolled his luggage across the bright terminal floor.

Two men in black suits waited silently by the exit. Professional. Unwavering. Like statues carved from shadow.

He didn’t glance at them. Didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. They existed only to move his things, nothing more.

The doors slid open, spilling sunlight across the floor. A sleek black car waited outside. He opened the door, dropped his bag in the back, and settled into the seat.

Five minutes later, he emerged again, perfectly transformed. Suit sharp, black, tailored to his lean frame. Shoes polished. Tie tight but breathable. Every detail precise. Every crease intentional.

He didn’t utter a word to the men. They took his luggage without a sound.

Aaron’s eyes flicked to the ID in his hand. Official. Perfectly clean. Fake. But the name printed clearly on it was his real name—Aaron, followed by two fake midle and surname, Marco Alessandro.

Nothing else mattered. Fake surname. No trace of his past. Only him.

He slid the ID into his jacket pocket, calm.

A few steps later, he hailed a taxi. Sliding into the backseat, he handed the driver the address. No small talk. No smiles. No distraction.

The city rushed past the window, buildings and cars flickering in motion.

WHITE HOUSE

The White House loomed ahead like a palace from another world—marble steps gleaming under the midday sun, gilded accents shimmering with quiet arrogance.

Security cameras perched at every corner, trained guards patrolled in precision formation, and glass doors reflected the wealth and power held within. Inside, crystal chandeliers cast fractured rainbows across polished floors.

Velvet ropes cordoned off areas that few had clearance to enter. Every detail screamed authority, luxury, and impenetrable control.

To most, the mission would seem impossible. To Aaron, impossible didn’t exist.

He slid out of the taxi, his posture relaxed, his eyes scanning, cataloging, memorizing.

Guards at attention, CCTV blinking silently, the faint hum of high-tech sensors in the background—all noted.

He walked toward the area designated for the bodyguard selection, careful not to draw suspicion, every movement casual yet deliberate.

The physical test had ended. The selection process now hinged on skill, strategy, and cunning.

“You’re late.” The chief guard’s voice was sharp, laced with authority.

“Better late than never,” Aaron replied, a cocky tilt to his smile that immediately made the guard’s jaw tighten.

“Unfortunately, you won’t have a trial. I’ve already made my selection. Antonio, step forward,” the chief said.

From the rows of trained, professional bodyguards, a man stepped out, muscles taut, eyes cold—but giving Aaron a glance that was almost bored, almost dismissive.

Aaron’s lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “How about a challenge between me and your so-called choice? If I win, I get the job. If I lose… I walk away. Simple.”

The chief guard chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “It’s obvious you don’t like your life.”

“Fine,” he said, nodding reluctantly.

One of the guards stepped forward, assigned to play the role of the President’s daughter. Aaron’s eyes flicked to her—the challenge had to be brutal, toxic, and designed to expose any weakness in Antonio without putting himself at risk.

“Here’s how it works,” Aaron said, his tone casual but deadly. “You’re going to escort her from this room to the far end of the corridor. She’s blindfolded. Obstacles, distractions, even threats… I’ll create them. Antonio, your job is to protect her while following every protocol. I’ll do the same. Whoever reaches the end first, unharmed… gets the job. Fail, and you’re out.”

Antonio frowned, realizing this wasn’t going to be a normal test.

Aaron’s gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, and one more thing.” He leaned slightly, a dangerous grin tugging at his lips. “I make the rules once we start.”

The chief guard raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. “You’re insane.”

Aaron simply nodded. “Or just confident. Let’s begin.”

The challenge began.

Two paths. Two “bodyguards.” One target. Blindfolded.

Antonio moved first. Confident. Quick. Precise.

A siren blared. Smoke hissed from machines at the corners. Flashing lights and moving obstacles made the course chaotic. Panic actors rushed past, some swinging fake weapons, some screaming.

Antonio stumbled. Hesitated. Overcorrected.

A mannequin “attacker” caught him off guard.

He cursed under his breath, fumbling with his footing. One misstep became another. His timing off, his moves sloppy.

Aaron stood to the side, calm. Observing. Calculating. He didn’t move a muscle—just eyes scanning, measuring every hazard, every reaction, every angle.

When Antonio hit the smoke cloud, he faltered, coughing. The swinging pendulum knocked him off balance.

Aaron’s turn.

He stepped forward.

Silent. Smooth. Precise. Every motion controlled. Every step measured.

A smoke cloud hissed in his face. He slid through it like liquid shadow.

The swinging pendulum came down—he ducked, body low, barely touching the floor.

The screaming panic actor lunged—he sidestepped, silent, graceful.

Antonio tripped again, almost falling at the last obstacle.

Aaron reached the end without a single misstep. Not a scratch. Not a stumble. Not a hesitation.

The room went quiet. Antonio panted, humiliated, defeated just a few steps from the finish line.

The chief guard folded his arms, studying Aaron.

“A deal is a deal. Antonio, you’re out. Young man, your ID And why do you want this job?”

Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. He handed the over ID over to chief guard.

“What else if not for the money. The pay is handsome,” he said, voice calm, cool.

The chief guard’s eyes narrowed.

“The President’s daughter is a handful. Attracted enemies. It won’t be an easy task. Follow me.”

Aaron silently trailed behind him.

“Everyone else is dismissed,” the guard added over his shoulder, dismissing the remaining applicants.

They walked through one of the massive, heavily secured rooms of the White House. Walls lined with screens showing every corner of the estate. CCTV cameras followed their movements. Guards patrolled silently, eyes sharp, every inch of the place monitored. Aaron studied it all, careful not to draw attention, yet memorizing every exit, every blind spot.

“She’s indeed a handful,” Aaron murmured, eyes flicking to the digital records on the chief guard’s tablet. Rebellious. Stubborn. Dangerous. Provocative. Perfect.

“She returned a few hours ago. I’ll take you to…” the chief guard paused, deliberate, “…the Aurora Suite. You are to always be around her. The only space you give her is for restroom and wardrobe. No exceptions. Understood?”

Aaron’s gaze lifted slowly, meeting the chief guard’s.

“Understood,” he said, voice low, unwavering.

The chief guard led Aaron down the polished hallway, the weight of the White House around them heavy with history, wealth, and secrets.

Every corner was watched, every movement recorded. The Aurora Suite awaited—a gilded cage for the President’s daughter, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

A maid ran past them, tears streaking her face, clutching a stack of papers. Both men barely glanced at her. Their eyes were on the door ahead.

They stopped. The chief guard rapped sharply on the polished wood.

“Miss, your new bodyguard has been recruited,” he announced.

From inside, a voice as soft as silk yet edged with steel replied,

“Let the asshøle in.”

Aaron turned the handle, stepping inside like he owned every inch of the room before even seeing her.

Ariel stood in the center, arms crossed, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood. Her lips parted around a stick of gum she chewed lazily, annoyance dripping from every movement.

“Finally… a young guy,” she said, rolling her eyes. She walked toward him with slow, calculated steps, chewing and popping the gum, daring him to speak.

Aaron’s eyes measured her, calculating, predatory. Every inch, every twitch, every movement cataloged.

“Take off your shirt,” she demanded, voice low but commanding.

Aaron’s brow quirked. “Why?”

“Are you questioning my orders?” she snapped.

He said nothing.

Her hand shot toward him in a slap, sharp and fast, but he caught it midair, holding it steady. Calm. Unshaken.

Then, with a movement so smooth it almost looked rehearsed, he tucked her hand under his shirt. The action left her lips parted, shocked, her words trapped in her throat.

“Listen to me, little brat,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Raise your hand at me again and watch me make you wear a cast for months. Yell at me again and I’ll put that voice of yours to good use. Starting now… yell at me, and watch me make you scream my name.”

Ariel drew back, her heart hammering against her ribs, each beat a warning. Who does he think he is? she wondered. She was untouchable, unbreakable. No one intimidated her.

“ I don't know your name, you f**king asshøle, you’re fired!” she yelled.

“It's Aaron, and I warned you,” Aaron said, his hands pinning her to the bed.