Chapter Text
After your parents found out someone had been tracking your every move, knowing your every location, they decided to hire you a bodyguard. It wasn't something you ever wanted; you were okay with any other form of protection-such as residential security-but a bodyguard was something you consistently refused.
You were fully capable of defending yourself. Thanks to martial arts training and your active lifestyle, you were sure you weren't in need of a bodyguard. But now that there was a stalker involved, your parents thought otherwise.
You were the only child of Gabriel and Maria LeBlanc, two internationally renowned fashion designers.
Your parents had met in the beautiful city of Paris, where you now lived. In her early twenties, your mother had traveled there with her family, and that's when she met your father: a handsome young man posing as a street performer for tourists. She watched him do magic tricks, juggle, and even dance–and in her words, he was exceptionally good at what he did.
Gabriel had taken an interest in Maria from the moment he saw her.
At first, your mother resisted. They lived in two different countries, England and France, she didn't want to get involved in something so complicated. But because of how romantic he was, his accent, and his sheer masculinity, she couldn't help but exchange numbers with him before she left.
Time passed, and soon they got sick of international calls and nearly a year of back-and-forth visits between the two countries. Now that things were official, they had come to an understanding: they couldn't live apart for much longer, not when the love between them was so strong, so clear.
And with that, your mother moved to France to pursue their relationship further. Not long after, they got married, then years later, they built their empire: LeBlanc Couture. Eventually, they had you–Well, adopted you.
As sweet as the story was, you had to hold back a gag the first time they told it. Still, a part of you wished you could see them hopelessly in love again. Things had clearly changed over the years.
Being the child of the two most influential fashion designers came with its ups and downs, but you were smart enough to know how privileged you were.
You lived in a pristine three-story mansion that was designed with the utmost security. A maid, chef, and butler tended to your every need, and money was never an issue.
In fact, the saying "money doesn't grow on trees" never really resonated with you. You heard it in the books you read, on television, from your friends' parents when you were younger, but you never truly understood it. You were never told no as a child, everything was always handed to you on a silver platter.
Birthdays meant travelling to different countries. Christmas meant piles of gifts, and you received many presents that were, for the most part, useless in your eyes.
Expensive clothing, jewelry, cologne that made your nose scrunch, things you wouldn't wear in a million years. No matter how much money was spent, almost everything that was given to you was junk. Junk you never wanted in the first place that usually ended up being stored away or given to your friends.
It was rare that your parents took your interests or personal preferences into consideration. Despite both of them being fashion designers, you were more drawn to comfortable, casual clothing. You hated the feel of velvet suits, or ties that were too tight on your neck. You didn't care for watches or fancy bracelets, or really anything that related to fashion.
As much as you preferred hoodies, sweatpants, and baggy T-shirts-far more wearable than anything your parents put you in-you mostly wore what they chose for you because you really had no choice.
But the trips and gifts, ones that barely made a dent in your parents' savings, never moved you the way they thought it would. Although your parents were present throughout your life, you felt as if there were a barrier between you and them.
The same love that your parents once had seemed to fade. It was slowly watered down until it became secondary to the company. It wasn't entirely gone, but the spark between them had clearly changed.
Conversations between your parents never reached beneath surface level unless it involved the business. There were no late-night talks or attempts to try and get to know you better. Speaking to them felt pointless at times, it was like talking to a wall that only responded when it benefited them.
The only work you did was for your parents. You walked runways, attended fashion weeks, and sat through excruciatingly long, boring meetings because they expected you to take over someday.
Apparently, getting a "real" job would attract too much media attention, disrupt the brand, or even put your safety at risk. But when it came down to it, you would have taken almost any other job over working for your parents.
You were held to the highest expectations with the company, and you didn't even care too much about fashion.
So what if you wanted to go clubbing with friends? (Something that, more than once, made headlines, and earned you a harsh reprimand from your parents.) So what if you didn't care what random strangers thought about you?
You never asked for this life.
Despite the privilege to have personal staff, all the money in the world, and the freedom to travel wherever you wanted, there was always a downside. Everywhere you went there was a camera shoved in your face or rumors circulating.
Your parents got the worst of it, due to them owning the business, so you can't imagine how they must feel if you got mad over some paparazzi and fake news.
But fake news was not the worst of it.
One Friday night while you were at a gay bar, an anonymous account posted a photo of you online with the exact location of the place. You, in your drunken haze, hadn't thought much of it. It quite frankly didn't matter, you were hard to go unrecognized, so let them take pictures.
Besides, everyone already knew you were gay. You'd come out as a teenager, and while it brought backlash, even from your parents, you couldn't change who you were.
You were there to have a good time, to forget about the expectations your parents held.
What you hadn't expected was for that same account to have an entire gallery of photos documenting everywhere you'd been over the past four months. Pictures from the mall, restaurants, and even at your parents' business building.
One photo in particular stood out to you, was you through the window of your room, your nose buried in a book.
It did shake you a little, but against your better judgement, you chose to brush it off. The paparazzi could be invasive, maybe they had some high-powered camera that could zoom in all the way to your window.
It was highly unlikely anyone could've gotten remotely close to the building. The mansion was protected with security that almost no one could bypass, so you convinced yourself that the picture was either edited or taken with a very expensive camera that could zoom in very far.
__________
A month had gone by, and you hadn't really put much thought into the account. The updates and pictures of your location were posted every other day. It was as if everywhere you went, they were right behind you, they knew where you were at all times.
Still, you weren't scared at all. Over the past five months, they hadn't done anything beyond watch you from a distance. If they really wanted to, they would have done something by now.
You thought everything was fine.
That was until your parents were informed by the head of security about the account. It had been going around social media without you knowing. When you first came across the page, they had maybe 20-30 followers; it had reached traction recently without your knowledge.
Oh, they were more than livid. And with that mouth of yours that you can never seem to shut, you had told them that you'd already known about the account.
__________
"No, no, Lucien! This isn't some paparazzi, this is serious. You're twenty-five years old, can't you take anything serious for once? Your life could be in danger!" Maria's voice rang through the room.
You were taken aback at the sharp tone of your mothers voice, the way it had pierced your ears. Your mother rarely loses her composure.
Your parents had called you out into the living room for a civil conversation between three adults, but you got annoyed from the moment they started speaking, and it eventually led up to this.
"Maman, I'm okay, I promise." You shrugged, trying to brush it off like it was nothing. In a way, you were trying to make the words sound reassuring so she would calm down, but it didn't seem that way.
"No. No you aren't. Why didn't you tell us?" Her long, brown hair moved with every shake of her head. "This is a very serious matter!" She yelled, her British accent cutting through the air.
Why was this such a huge deal? Literally any of you could've had a stalker, yours just so happened to post about it.
Your hands flew up, instinctively defensive. "It really isn't that big of a deal, god." You huffed, irritation slipping through your voice.
Those words you hadn't put a single thought into, seemed to ignite a fire in both your mom and your dad. You straightened up unintentionally, what you said had finally been processed in your brain.
Now they definitely had it out for you.
Gabriel's jaw was clenched, his anger evident. "Putain de gamin-" he cursed under his breath, clearly trying to hold back his anger, while your mother just stared at you with wide, scary eyes.
Your father quickly composed himself, and he took slow, deliberate steps towards you, looming over you with his frame.
"Until this matter is dealt with, we get you a bodyguard in the meantime. There will be no discussion." He said firmly with a shake of his head, his French accent sharp.
You were frozen, your eyebrows pulled together immediately.
A bodyguard?
You thought about how embarrassing it would be to have to be protected, like some weakling. As if you were helpless and defenseless. People already disliked you, now they'd have something else to talk about.
"Do I make myself clear?" Your father barked out, his chest rising up and down fairly quickly.
Before you could even open your mouth to argue, your mother stepped in. "Does he make himself clear?" Maria pressed, her arms crossed against her chest, her stare holding that same deadly look.
You knew you didn't have any say in the matter. When both your parents agreed on something that they both deemed logical, there was no talking them out of it. You had suspected they'd been talking about hiring you a bodyguard; this incident probably led up to it.
You narrowed your eyes, not daring to break eye contact with your father so he wouldn't get the satisfaction he wanted.
You hummed and nodded. "Yes." You replied, your tone deliberately indifferent.
"Yes, what?" He pressed.
Fuck.
You clenched your jaw in irritation. "Yes sir." You said through gritted teeth.
__________
A week after the argument happened, you had some time to think over everything. It sounded like the whole bodyguard situation was temporary, only until your "stalker" was found.
Technically, until then, you'd just have to put up with the media, paparazzi, and whoever accompanied you as protection.
Knowing your parents, they would probably want your bodyguard to be glued to your side at all times, just because they knew how much you valued your personal space. That would be their way of getting to you.
You shouldn't have gotten under their skin that day. You weren't intentionally trying to in the moment, it was just your normal persona.
But it wouldn't be that bad, right?
No, no, no.
You were going to be a complete menace to your bodyguard to show it up to your parents.
__________
The house was unusually quiet this morning–quieter than the day after the altercation-and you had an underlying suspicion that something was going on.
You usually heard the clinking of metal against a pan from the chef downstairs, the occasional sound of the running vacuum from the maid, and your butler, Maurice, would bring you breakfast in bed every morning. But today it was dead silent, and the breakfast in bed plans were cancelled.
You were confused for a moment, thinking you slept in late. The clock that sat on your nightstand confirmed it was 6 AM, and that you in fact, had not slept in.
You were up at the exact same time you were every day, so what's with the silence?
You stretched your limbs across the satin sheets of your bed, slid out of your comforter, then dropped onto the cold hardwood. Your California King barely took up any space in your spacious room.
You grabbed your phone from off the charger, hadn't even bothered to change out of your plaid pajama pants, (the only thing you had on) and made it out into the hallway. You looked around the empty space and pursed your lips in confusion. No maid in sight. Okay, that's relatively normal. She must be downstairs.
As you walked down the marble, curved staircase, you saw the security stationed near the entrance of a hallway. You waved to them tiredly, phone in hand, still making your way down the steps. They nodded back politely in response.
You were still mad at them for showing your parents the account. Then again, that was their job, you couldn't hold a grudge against them for that.
The fact that it took them as long as it did, made you think that they were shitty security. The account had been up for months and they had just recently found it?
You stopped at the bottom of the staircase when you noticed your parents by the tall doors of the entrance, talking to a large, dark figure.
Was this the stalker? The voice in your head echoed.
They did look scary, you wouldn't doubt it.
No, dumbass, why the hell would your stalker be in your home? You argued with yourself.
You could only see the person's back–broad and muscular through the long sleeve they had on. You blinked a couple of times, pushed yourself off the staircase, and made your way to your parents and the mysterious figure.
You assumed they were a man because of the strong, muscular build. He stood tall, taller than your father. His hands were clasped in front of him, from what you could tell, and your parents seemed to be enjoying the conversation they were having.
Their discussion came to a halt when you made it into frame, three sets of eyes immediately landing on you. You were correct–the figure was a man. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a skull mask concealing his face. It seemed he didn't like color; his entire pallet was monochrome.
His gaze was cold and piercing as he looked down at you through the eyeholes of his mask.
You immediately looked away from him with an unimpressed expression, not bothering to introduce yourself. "Who's this?" You said to your parents, pointing your finger at the skull-faced stranger with the same hand that held your device.
They exchanged a brief look before your mother spoke up. "This is Ghost,” she said, her voice composed. "He will be your bodyguard for the time being. He'll be staying in one of the guest rooms closest to yours in case anything happens. I expect you to be on your best behavior."
Your father stepped in after, his tone firm. "He was transferred from England. He is former military, so there are no issues with his capability." He said simply.
England? Your mother must like him already.
Still, your heart rate immediately spiked, your eye twitching slightly.
Why hadn't they informed you that your bodyguard was coming today? They could have at least given you a heads up!
You took a deep breath in and collected yourself. "Hm, really?" You turned and looked him up and down. "Doesn't he seem a bit too scrawny?" You tilt your head challengingly, raising an eyebrow. "And what kind of a name is Ghost?"
The scrawny part was just to rile him up–his muscles were bulging through the suit he had on–but really, was Ghost even his real name? And what's with the mask?
From your peripheral, you see your parents' bodies stiffen.
Your plan was put into action.
You saw your father open his mouth, but Ghost spoke first.
"I've heard the son of the LeBlanc family had a mouth on him, but I didn't think it would be this bad,” he spoke, his British accent sharp, his voice deep and masculine.
He hadn't even flinched at your attempt to provoke him.
"You need to learn proper manners." He kept that same gaze fixed onto you.
Oh, so he was aware of your reputation. Though you certainly weren't used to anyone speaking to you that way, let alone by someone who had no authority over you.
Before you could say anything, your mother spoke up. "I agree. Knock some sense into the boy, will you?" Maria crossed her arms over her chest, a small, genuine smile plastered on her face.
"I–" You started.
"Will do, Mrs. LeBlanc," He interrupted and turned to your mother, extending his hand. "And I will make sure he's safe at all times. Your son will be taken care of." He gave firm handshakes to both of your parents. They nodded appreciatively before ordering security to show him around the property.
After he was out of sight, your emotions let loose and you stormed up to your room like a petulant child, throwing your phone onto the bed before flopping down afterwards.
How dare he embarrass you like that? Stand up to you like that?
You rolled along your long mattress until you landed on the floor with a heavy thud. You didn't have the energy to get up, so you just wallowed there in your self pity.
__________
A few hours later, you were suddenly awoken to the sound of someone's voice. You lifted your head from off the ground only to meet the face of Maurice.
"Huh...Whatdja say?" You mumbled, not fully aware of what's happening yet, and you've found that you've drooled all over the floor and yourself. You sat up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyebrows furrowed in disgust.
You saw your butler's hand shuffle from your side view, and he handed you the handkerchief that was stored in his pocket. "I said dinner is ready." He repeated.
Damn...dinner? How long did I sleep? Your head rang.
Maurice was a mostly stoic man in his mid to late forties. It was rare for him to show any emotion; when he did, it was usually just a small smile or the twitch of an eye.
He had blonde hair streaked with white, a look that you'd changed more than once with hair dye without him really caring. He had pale skin, paler than your fathers. His personality was unchanging with everyone he came across, which is why you liked him so much. He wasn't fake. You don't know what he thought of you, but he didn't treat you indifferently, so you could make an educated guess.
You took the handkerchief from his hand and nodded a thank you, wiping your mouth before standing to your feet. You saw him briefly glance at what you were wearing.
Oh, right. You never changed out of your pajama pants. Or even put on a shirt. Meh.
"I don't really feel like changing, let's just go." You said nonchalantly with the wave of a hand and allowed him to lead the way.
As soon as you stepped foot into the dining area, you saw your parents and your bodyguard sat at the table enjoying the meal your chef cooked for them.
Your father's head lifted up from his meal to meet yours. "Come sit, son."
You nodded and Maurice sat you down pulling your chair out for you.
Right across from Ghost.
You know he didn't do it intentionally, but still.
You got situated in the chair and looked at the man in front of you, a scowl immediately forming on your face. He didn't have the skull mask on this time, just a normal baclava. It was lifted slightly so he could eat, revealing his sharp jawline and the light stubble across it. He didn't pay you any mind, focused on the meal in front of him.
Couldn't he have just taken the mask off to eat? Isn't putting on a completely different one doing too much?
When Maurice brought your meal out, you immediately stuffed your mouth with the food, pulling your eyes away from the masked man.
You were damn hungry. You hadn't eaten all day.
This food is much more important than my plans on making your time here hell, Ghost. You thought, your face still scrunched up.
Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of your mother's voice. "Lucien, have you tried on the new suit I set out for you? We need it to fit just right for the runway on Monday." She asked, her eyes on you. She then took a sip of her wine elegantly.
Your head whipped towards your mother, and your face relaxed by a fraction. "Oh...no, not yet. I will though. I'll tell you if it fits when I put it on." You said, your mouth full.
Nothing ever personal. Just about the business.
Your mother sighed and swallowed the last of the red liquid. "Manners, please." She set the glass down. "Try it on when you're done with dinner. If it doesn't fit, come to me so I can tailor it."
You nodded and looked down at your plate, then picked up a knife in an attempt to cut the juicy, medium-rare steak.
The knife slid over and over again, but the angle was wrong. You switched the fork and the serrated knife to your other hands and let out a few desperate grunts before Maurice came over.
"Allow me, sir." He took the silverware in his hands and began to make his way through the meat, much more efficiently than your attempt to.
You looked up from the plate and your eyes met Ghost's. His gaze was just as intense as it was from the moment you met him, but there was a slight hint of amusement. He went back to his meal with a soft, barely audible huff.
Was he making fun of you?
You scoffed and stared at Ghost incredulously. Well, if he was going to press you, you'd press him back in the same way.
You cleared your throat, his eyes glancing back up. "Why the mask, Ghost?"
He lifted his head. "To hide my face." He simply said, his expression neutral, his voice monotone.
Maurice finished up with your steak and stepped to the side of the room, the previous position he was in.
You hummed at Ghost. "You know, you're in the comfort of my home. There's really no reason for you to wear that ugly old thing." You rested your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on the table, a smug smile plastered on your face.
Your parents stopped mid chew at your crude comment. "Lucien,” your mother warned.
Ghost blinked, unphased. "I'll do as I want. My job is to protect you; there's no reason for you to see my face." He continued to his plate of food, leaving you even more annoyed. How can he be so unmoved by what you just said?
People would usually be fuming by now. You were a top tier "rage baiter" according to your friends.
"You're probably really ugly then, aren't you? Afraid to show more of your face?" You mask your annoyance with the tilt of your head.
Your mother gasps, and your father stands up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table hard enough to make the plates jump.Your hand quickly dropped from your face, your eyes leaving Ghost.
"Lucien, that is completely unnecessary!" He shouts. "You are too old to be acting like this." He shook his head with a sigh.
"Apologize." He breathed out.
Your parents had been blowing up way more recently due to your progressing behavior, but they knew you never wanted a bodyguard-this whole stalker situation wasn't serious at all–and with your attitude, they should have expected this.
Still, you swallowed down the urge to say something you'd regret.
"I'm sorry, father."
"To him." He jerked his head to Ghost
Your eyes flicked to the man across from you, narrowing slightly. "I am sorry." You said begrudgingly.
There was a pause for a moment, the tension in the room felt thick enough to cut through. Still, Ghost's expression remained unreadable. "Thank you for your apology," he said, holding eye contact and nodding slightly.
You clenched your jaw tight.
Not even an "It's okay," or an "I forgive you?"
You looked down at your plate, at the pieces of cut steak, and realized that you had lost your appetite. Your plan isn't going your way at all. In fact, he's pissing you off more!
You arose quickly, the chair scraping against the floor, your eyes never leaving Ghost as you stormed out of the dining room.
The nerve. The audacity!
You climbed up the long staircase, feeling a strange sense of Deja Vu.
Once you made it to your room, you sat on the edge of your bed and immediately grabbed your phone, texting your friends Flor and Luis.
You've had many friends your whole life, most of which used you for money, popularity, or something entirely else, but Flor and Luis were unlike any of them.
You had met Flor in your senior year of college, which, in your case, you were only there more for the social aspect and parties rather than anything academic. She had been one of the first people to actually stick around in your life without wanting something in return.
Flor was Hispanic with warm, light-brown skin and thick, wavy hair that always looked put together even when she clearly hadn't tried. Her eyes were large and dark brown, almost black, and she got away with almost everything with her “innocent” stare. (Her puppy-dog eyes came in handy when getting free drinks though.)
She had grown up in the United States but later moved to Paris after studying abroad for college. She was very good at French, even if it wasn't her native tongue.
As for Luis, you two had met through Flor, and the three of you eventually became a small but close friend group. Luis had dark hair he usually kept combed to the side, and beautiful green eyes. He was very tall and lanky, nearly a foot taller than Flor, who just so happened to be the shortest of the group. He was very reserved and quiet for the most part, but you could tell he cared deeply for you and Flor, even if he had a hard time expressing it.
__________
Me:
Is anyone up? ;(
As always, Flor's bubble popped up immediately after your text was sent. It was as if she was constantly online.
FLOR💋:
Luci!! What's wrong? You sound so sad.
Who hurt you?
Right. You hadn't told her about the stalker or bodyguard situation.
Me:
It's a lot 🙄 but basically, I have a bodyguard now, yay. And I already hate him.
FLOR💋:
Oh, ew.
The hell? Why do you need a bodyguard?
Did something happen, Luci?
You zoned out at the wall for who knows how long, and came back to reality when Luis had hopped into the chat.
LUIS<3:
We see your read status on the screen. Answer the messages.
You scrolled through the messages briefly, and Flor had been making up theories on what had happened, with questions following along. Luis was telling her to calm down, to stop worrying.
"Maybe he got beaten up?" You read a text aloud with a raised eyebrow, then your fingers started tapping across the keyboard.
Me:
I didn’t get hurt or anything. I'd rather just tell you two the whole story in person.
LUIS<3:
Okay, good.
FLOR💋:
Phewwww!!!
I was hoping your pretty face didn't get bruised. 😘
You let out a real, genuine laugh, and got yourself situated on your bed, your head resting against your dark, wooden headboard.
LUIS<3:
Let's plan to meet up tomorrow then, yeah? To that one cafe tourists go all the time.
FLOR💋:
Yes!! It's a plan. Is 8 AM fine for you both?
Me:
It's fine with me. I don't have any work to do for my parents tomorrow.
I'll try to like...sneak away from my bodyguard or something so we can talk privately
LUIS<3:
8AM is fine with me too.
FLOR💋:
Wtffff, the bodyguard has to tag along???💀
Ok nvm, it doesn't really matter. I hope you're okay Luci, seriously. If he hurt you in any way, shape, or form, I'll seriously murder him.
As much as you smiled at her text, you couldn't help but feel a little scared if she were to actually attempt to. She wasn’t bluffing, she could be very protective and confrontational at times. Though she would have to climb him like a beanstalk to even land a hit on his face–if she even got the chance to. As much as you already hated to admit, his background of being in the military was obvious.
Me:
Okay, I love you both. Thank you for uplifting my spirits, somewhat.
I'm gonna head to bed. Night 🫶
The text was only partly true. They had lifted your spirits more than "somewhat," but since you slept most of the day, you definitely weren't going to sleep anytime soon. You only sent the text so they could get off and not be bombarded with any more of your problems.
FLOR💋:
I love you too. Get some sleep, we'll make you forget about your bum ass bodyguard tomorrow.
LUIS<3:
Love you, goodnight.
With that, you turned your phone off with a click, resting it against your chest, as you stared up at the ceiling. A small, stupid smile tugged at your lips. Your heart had steadied, and your mood felt infinitely better.
__________
After about an hour of scrolling through social media, you realized that you were fairly parched. You swung your legs off your bed, letting them dangle there for a moment, before hopping off.
You walked to your door and opened it silently, stepping out into the cold, dark hallway.
The lights were off in the mansion, lit only by the red blinking from the cameras on the ceiling. You shone your phone flashlight for vision and made your way to the staircase, only to see Ghost climbing them. For a big man, he was irritatingly quiet. You hadn't even heard his footsteps and the house was dead silent.
You smirked to yourself and flashed the light in his face. His head snapped up and he stopped instantly, immediately on guard. His eyes shifted once he noticed it was only you.
His shoulders relaxed slightly and he continued up the stairs, though his gaze remained steady on you.
You crossed your arms at the top, blocking the pathway from Ghost. It felt like an intense eye-staring contest was going on between the two of you.
Just two steps away from the top, he stopped, looking down at you. "Excuse me,” he said gruffly.
You cocked an eyebrow and tilted your head. "Hm?" You said, feigning innocence, unmoving. He stared at you for a moment then suddenly pushed past you, making his way towards his room. Or, technically, towards one of the guest rooms.
You stumbled back, your phone clattering to the ground face-down, and you felt that same anger bubbling up inside of you again.
"You know what," you muttered, storming towards him. "You need to stop acting like you have any authority over me." You grabbed his arm before he could grip the handle of his door. "You are my bodyguard, you will learn your place."
A moment passed.
Then his head turned slowly to you, almost unnaturally still, his eyes dropping to where your hand gripped his arm.
Maybe it was the darkness, or the red contrast from the lights, or that his eyes were now completely empty, but chills ran up your spine.
He leaned in closer to you, your grip on his arm falling as you cowered back unintentionally.
"No. You will learn your place, Lucien." He said calmly, though his voice was laced with anger. "Respect is earned. You get mine when you start giving it."
He took a few steps toward you, your back hitting the wall as he cornered you in, your hands coming up instinctively. You found that you couldn't pull your eyes away from him, his stare was too strong, too assertive. You knew you looked vulnerable and weak in the moment, but you couldn't help the frightened expression that was on your face.
"You need to get your act together," He cornered you in. "I don't deal with brats." He emphasized the last word, as if that was entirely what you were.
And with that, he turned on his heel and made it into his room, the door closing with a deliberate, soft click. You were frozen in place, your pupils dilated with adrenaline, your heart racing a mile a minute.
Had your plans to make his time here completely unbearable called off?
No one had ever done that, made you feel so small. No one had scared you shitless like that.
Your eyes darted to your phone that had been knocked out of your hands, and you forced yourself to take a few steps, your legs shaking slightly. You calmed your breath, and leaned down to pick it up. Once you saw your reflection from the black screen, you saw the new, unwanted cracks that followed along. Your eyebrows furrowed immediately, your grip around the device tightening in anger.
Then, you came to the realization. He couldn't put his hands on you. The most he could do was get in your face–which he had just done.
You shouldn't be scared at all!
But you didn't know what kind of a man he was; he could be intimidating on the outside but wouldn't lay a finger on you in reality. Or he could be the complete opposite: someone who would take pleasure in beating the shit out of you but is held back because he's supposed to be protecting you.
All you knew is that your parents were paying him a fortune for this job, so if he really wanted to lay a hand on you, he was probably holding himself back very well.
The coffee plans with your friends lingered in the back of your mind, but all you could think about was Ghost.
You hoped they’d found your stalker as soon as possible just so you didn't have to spend another minute with him.
Maybe he was going to make your time with him unbearable.