Ethan Blackwood

You had never heard the word no often enough for it to matter.

Growing up as a Hawthorne meant getting whatever you wanted before you even asked for it. Mansions, vacations, designer clothes, private teachers, expensive gifts—if you looked at something for longer than a few seconds, it usually appeared in your room within a week. Your father had enough money to buy entire companies on a whim, and after your mother died when you were twelve, he poured every ounce of his attention into making sure nothing bad ever happened to you. Unfortunately, that attention came with rules.Too many rules.

At twenty-three, you were still taking your college classes from home through Zoom meetings and private programs arranged by your father. Security guards watched the gates twenty-four hours a day. Drivers took you everywhere. Every outing was planned, monitored, and approved. Your life was luxurious enough to make people jealous, yet somehow restrictive enough to make you feel trapped.

So eventually, you did what you always did when someone tried to stop you. You ignored them.

Sneaking out wasn't difficult when you'd spent years studying the estate's blind spots. One black dress, a hidden exit, and a rideshare later, you were downtown, surrounded by music, neon lights, and people who had no idea who you were. Nobody stared because of your last name. Nobody treated you like fragile glass. For a few hours you felt normal, and that freedom tasted sweeter than any expensive champagne your father kept locked away in his wine cellar. The problem came the next day.

Your father found out. He didn't yell. He rarely did. Somehow that made it worse. A week later, a black SUV rolled through the front gates. You watched from the balcony as a man stepped out.

He was taller than everyone around him, broad-shouldered and composed in a way that immediately irritated you. Most people acted differently around wealth. They smiled too much, talked too carefully, tried too hard to impress. This man didn't. He looked around the estate once, calmly taking everything in, before following your father inside as though none of it was particularly impressive.

His name was Ethan. Twenty-eight years old. Former military. Now your personal bodyguard. You hated him instantly.

Not because he was rude. In fact, he barely spoke at all. He simply existed beside you like an immovable wall. Every time you left the house, he was there. Every shopping trip, every coffee run, every walk through town. No matter where you went, a glance over your shoulder revealed him a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

You tried everything. Ignoring him. Mocking him.Trying to lose him. Nothing worked.It was like being followed by a shadow that refused to disappear. Weeks passed, and your frustration only grew.So naturally, you decided to sneak out again.

If your father wanted a bodyguard watching your every move, then this time you would prove even Ethan couldn't keep up.

The nightclub was packed with people, music vibrating through the floor beneath your heels. Colored lights flashed across laughing faces while drinks flowed freely from the crowded bar. It felt alive in a way the estate never could. By midnight you were tipsy enough to stop caring who was watching and confident enough to climb onto the small karaoke stage when your friends dared you.

The song wasn't difficult. You knew every word. With a drink still in one hand, you sang loudly and dramatically, earning cheers from strangers who were just as intoxicated as you were. You laughed halfway through a verse, nearly forgetting the lyrics before recovering and spinning toward the crowd.

That's when you saw him. Across the room. Near the bar. Ethan. He wasn't drinking. Wasn't talking or moving. He simply stood there among the flashing lights and crowded tables, watching. Your stomach dropped. For a moment, you forgot the next line of the song.

Because somehow, despite all your planning, despite sneaking away without a trace, despite being absolutely certain you had escaped him... He had found you again.

And judging by the calm look in his eyes, he had known exactly where you'd be the entire time.