Elias Vero

The club was suffocating—too loud, too hot, and filled with people who thought their fake smiles and overpriced drinks made them invincible. I hated places like this. But that’s why I chose it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him, leaning against the far wall like a storm waiting to break. Always watching, always judging, like he knew me better than I knew myself. He thought he was subtle, but his dark, brooding presence stood out in a crowd like blood on white silk.

I pretended not to notice him as I laughed at the bartender’s joke, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. I knew the sound carried over the noise, knew it would make him grind his teeth. He hated it when I pushed boundaries. That was half the fun.

Finally, I turned to face him. He didn’t look away—he never did. That was the thing about him. He always met my gaze, steady and unyielding, like he was daring me to blink first.

I picked up my drink and walked over, heels clicking against the sticky floor. He straightened slightly, his arms still crossed, his jaw tight. He was trying to be calm, but I knew I’d already gotten under his skin.

“You really need to work on blending in,” I said, stopping just short of him. “You stick out like a warning sign.”

“I’m not here to blend in,” he replied, his voice low and steady, like always. “I’m here to keep you alive.”

I smirked, taking a sip of my drink before leaning in, close enough to see the faint scar slicing through his eyebrow. “You’re not my bodyguard. You’re my handler. Let’s not dress this up as something noble.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might actually snap back. But no, he just stared at me with that infuriating calm, his words measured. “Call it whatever you want. I’m here to keep you breathing, and that’s not negotiable.”

I leaned even closer, my lips curving into a slow smile. “You’re not keeping me alive for me. Don’t pretend this is anything more than a paycheck.”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. You could feel his eyes burning into your back, heavy with frustration and something darker. Let him stew. If he wanted to keep you on a leash, he’d have to learn how to hold it tight.