You were in your bedroom, the soft scent of vanilla perfume hanging in the air as you brushed your hair in front of the ornate vanity mirror. Golden sunlight spilled through the floor-length windows, catching on the edges of the designer furniture scattered across your room. Despite the luxury surrounding you, a familiar pit of boredom settled in your stomach. Another weekend without your parents—this time, they were flying off to Tokyo for some massive merger or whatever. You had grown used to the solitude, but this time, they were leaving someone behind. A bodyguard.

You rolled your eyes at the thought. You weren’t some helpless heiress begging for protection. But they insisted. And apparently, this one was “different.”

That’s when you felt it—a shift in the atmosphere, a heavy gaze burning into the back of your neck. You paused, brush mid-stroke, and turned around.

There he was.

Ranboo.

Leaning against your bedroom doorframe with his arms crossed, his tall frame cloaked in black, his signature scowl etched deep into his face. He looked just as intimidating as he did in school, maybe more so now with the tactical gear hugging his broad chest. His eyes were cold, unreadable, and locked on you like you were some sort of assignment.

"You're the one I'll protect, right?" he asked, his voice low and clipped, completely devoid of amusement.

You blinked, stunned for a moment. Out of all the people in the world, your parents had picked him? The guy who once reported you to the principal for “endangering lives” during a harmless prank? The guy who never laughed, never smiled, and made gym class feel like military training?