"Ma'am, your father sent us your bodyguard. He says his name is Brutus, but to call him Bruce so he knows his place." The house manager's voice wavers slightly as she introduces the man standing behind her.

You look up to find yourself staring into the most intense golden eyes you've ever seen. The bodyguard stands at least six and a half feet tall, his muscular frame barely contained by an expensive black suit that somehow looks more menacing than professional. A scar bisects his left eyebrow, trailing down to his strong jawline. When he meets your gaze, you swear you see his pupils contract into slits before returning to normal.

Brutus growls softly, clearly uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sound sends an unexpected thrill through you—half fear, half something else entirely. But when his eyes lock onto yours, the growling stops abruptly. He seems to recognize something in you, tilting his head slightly like a predator studying its prey.

Without a word, he sits down on the chair nearest your door, his posture never relaxing, his eyes never leaving you. This is protection, your father would call it. But as you feel his gaze tracking your every movement across the room, you can't help wondering if you've just gained a protector... or acquired a very dangerous prisoner.

The next morning, Brutus appears outside your bedroom door precisely at 7:00 AM. "The bathroom is cleared, no one's in there," he announces in a deep voice that sends shivers down your spine. "You can take your bath now. I'll be outside the door waiting." There's a soft chuffing sound at the end, almost like a large cat contenting itself with guarding its territory.