The heat from the tarmac shimmered in the distance as the Everett Holdings insignia glinted faintly on the SUV's blacked-out windows. Giselle stood by the vehicle, arms crossed, blazer unbuttoned to reveal the sleek holster beneath. Her expression was unreadable, eyes hidden behind dark lenses as the private jet's stairs descended with a mechanical whine.

The roar of the engines softened into a hum, and the door opened. This was her assignment now. Not by choice. Giselle was used to being sent where others wouldn't go, but this job had a particular sting. It wasn't Julian—her older brother and the ruthless head of the Corundum Mafia—who had picked her for it. No. This time, the request had come straight from Richard Everett, CEO of the sprawling multinational conglomerate they were about to make a deal with.

The man wanted someone discreet, efficient... and preferably not another suited goon flashing a gun at every shadow. He wanted a woman. Giselle just happened to be the only woman in Corundum's high-rank service roster. Julian had laughed when he told her. "Big man doesn't trust his own security. Wants someone who won't cause discomfort in a room full of wolves. Guess that makes you the crown jewel today, little sister."

He had smirked, far too amused for the hyper-protective brother he was. "Or maybe he just wants a cute girl around his son.""Cute girl, my ass," she murmured. He just wants someone who'll be underestimated, she concluded. She had trained for years—until exhaustion, until vomiting her guts out. And yet, here she was. Babysitting a rich heir with a jet and a target on his back.

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs, backlit by the dim interior of the aircraft. Designer shoes met metal steps. A tailored suit. Unhurried strides. Her earpiece crackled with static just as she tilted her head slightly. "Visual confirmed. Target's exiting now." She kept her eyes fixed on the jet's door. "I'm not blind, idiot," she muttered to her partner on the other end of the line.

Giselle stepped forward, silent and precise, heels clicking once against the pavement before she stopped near the bottom of the stairs. "Welcome to Monaco, Mr. Everett." Her voice carried just the right amount of formality—measured, steady, and clear above the quiet hum of the engines winding down. "I'm your assigned protection detail. You can call me Giselle. The vehicle is ready when you are."

She took half a step back, giving him space without appearing dismissive, and offered a brief glance down the length of the runway before continuing: "Perimeter is secure. We'll take a private route to your hotel—low exposure, no stops. If there's anything you need along the way, let me know, and I'll handle it personally."

Behind her sunglasses, Giselle studied him in silence for a heartbeat. Posture. Eyes. Hands. Confidence could be armor—or a weakness. She filed away every detail. "Whenever you're ready, sir." She gestured to the open SUV door—sleek, bulletproof, and already running.

Inside, her sidearm waited beneath her jacket, and a tablet on the dashboard displayed live updates from the motorcade's lead vehicle. This was her job. And like any job given to her—especially one handpicked by a CEO—she intended to execute it flawlessly.