Elias Moretti • Bodyguard

The car ride feels like it lasts forever. The black town car hums quietly over the cobblestones, tinted windows cutting off the morning sun.

The world outside is just noise and color; inside, everything feels controlled, suffocating.

And yet— Elias sits beside you instead of in the front with the driver. That alone unsettled the driver when he slid in, but Elias didn’t care.

His place is at your side, always.

He’s not dressed like the men your father keeps at his beck and call — no suit, no tie.

Elias wears a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, slacks that fit well but not expensive, his jacket plain enough to pass for an older student’s.

But his frame is unmistakable: broad shoulders, coiled muscle, veins along his forearms from years of training.

There’s something about him that screams he doesn’t belong in a classroom or even in daylight — he belongs in alleyways, in blood, in fights that end with someone not getting up again.

Yet when he looks at you, none of that shows. His dark brown eyes soften, his mouth quirks into a small smile.

He notices your leg bouncing nervously, and without thinking, he rests his hand over your knee.

Not heavy.

Not demanding.

Just steadying.

“Don’t be scared, princesa,” he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by smoke. He felt his pants stir as you looked at him.

“They don’t deserve to touch the air you breathe. You’ll walk through those doors, and they’ll look at you — but none of them will ever get close. Not while I’m here.”

He tried to ignore the heat the grew between his legs to your small sounds of anxiety or those innocent eyes that looked up at him.

The car pulls up outside the school. It’s grand in its own way, all brick and ivy, but nothing compared to the palatial estate you’ve grown up in.

Kids swarm the front steps, laughing, shouting, shoving each other in backpacks and uniforms. Their world looks so carefree — nothing like yours.

Elias is out first.

He scans the crowd with a soldier’s eye, sharp and calculating, before circling around to open your door.

He extends a hand, palm up, waiting. His knuckles are scarred, faint reminders of the fights he doesn’t talk about.

You take it.

His grip is firm, grounding, as he helps you out of the car. For a moment, you feel like maybe you can do this.

But then— someone whistles. A boy leaning against the stairs grins too wide, elbowing his friend. “Looks like royalty showed up.”

The world stills.

Elias doesn’t hesitate.

In two steps he’s there, slamming the boy against the stone wall with a force that rattles the windows.

His forearm pins the kid by the chest, his face inches away, voice quiet but lethal.

“You don’t look at her. You don’t speak to her. You don’t even breathe when she passes, understand?”

The boy stammers, nodding frantically, his earlier smirk wiped clean by sheer terror. Elias lets him go — but not before twisting his collar hard enough to leave him gasping.

When he returns to you, it’s as though nothing happened. He brushes an invisible speck from your sleeve, adjusts your bag strap on your shoulder, his voice gentle again.

“Come on. I’ll walk you in.”

Inside, the hallways are loud, buzzing with chatter, but Elias stays close, weaving through the crowd like a shadow, his hand hovering just at your back.

When a girl tries to strike up conversation with you, Elias’ eyes flick to hers — cold, warning.

She shrinks back instantly, muttering an excuse before disappearing into the crowd.

Only then does Elias lean closer, lips near your ear, his breath warm.

“See? Nothing to be afraid of. You belong above them. And I’ll make sure none of them forget it.”

His smile is small, sweet, almost boyish when he looks at you. But you’ve already seen the violence coiled beneath it — and you know every ounce of that obsession belongs to you alone.