Throwing off the covers, I jumped out of bed, my feet sinking into the warm, plush carpet. Golden rays of sunlight poured through the tall windows of my bedroom, catching the dust in the air like glitter on a stage. I felt alive. Powerful. Like I was the main character in a show I actually wanted to be part of.
I slipped into my favorite lemon-colored dress-short, silky, and hugging all the right places. It made me feel sexy, bold, and unapologetically me. I let my curls fall into soft waves, added a swipe of gloss, and looked into the mirror with a smirk. I didn't need validation. I was the party.
But my happiness didn't last long.
As I made my way downstairs, high on my own mood, I heard low voices drifting from the study. My dad's voice. Serious. Controlled. Dangerous. I paused on the staircase, leaning slightly to catch what he was saying.
"...make sure he's the best. I don't want anything happening to Regina."
The words slammed into me. My chest tightened. A bodyguard? Again? After all our fights and promises? I was almost 20, not twelve! Why couldn't he just let me live my damn life?
Fuming, I stormed into the study.
My father didn't even flinch. Just leaned back in his chair with that same unbothered, politician's calm.
It wasn't a discussion. It never was.
We argued-loudly. My voice rose, his stayed low, commanding. He talked about threats. I talked about freedom. Neither of us listened.
And then the doorbell rang.
My dad checked his watch like this had all been perfectly timed. "He's here," he said, rising.
I followed behind him, heart pounding with frustration. The grand doors opened... and there he was.
Tall. Dark. Tattooed. A walking, breathing contradiction of danger and elegance.
Jesus Christ.
Everything about him was... a problem. His presence dominated the room, his eyes scanning me in a way that made my breath catch. His chocolate skin, the subtle glint of ink tracing along his forearms, that jawline sculpted like it was carved by sin itself. And that voice? Deep. Silky. A velvet punch straight to the gut.
I didn't say a word. Couldn't. I just stared.
"Regina, Regina," my dad said again.
I blinked. "Sorry, I just... had a lot on my mind." I pointed at the man who had just made my thoughts illegal. "Is he the bodyguard?"
"Yes. Meet Dante Moretti. Dante, this is my daughter, Regina."
He nodded politely, eyes locked on mine. "It's a pleasure."
Pleasure? No. This was dangerous. Because whatever this man was made of-it wasn't just muscle and mystery. He had that thing. That magnetism that made rules feel optional and mistakes feel like destiny.
I mumbled something awkward and practically bolted. I needed air. Space. A mirror. Sanity.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. How am I supposed to hate him? Because I knew I had to. This man represented control, surveillance, everything I wanted to rebel against. But he was sexy as hell. I hated myself for how much I liked it.
My phone buzzed. Stephanie. Ugh. That traitor. That ex-best friend. Still obsessed with Mark's cheating ass. Why was she calling?
Before I could answer, a gentle knock came at the door.
"Regina?" a warm voice called. Samantha.
Samantha was more than a maid. She was the only one in this house who saw me and not just "Adam Cole's daughter." Like a big sister, always gentle, always there when I needed someone real.
"You've been in there for like an hour now," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm good. Thanks, Sam."
"You have a guest," she said. "He's in the second-floor lounge with your dad."
I sighed. "I know. Dante. But he's not a guest-he's my bodyguard."
"Bodyguard? Why?"
I threw myself onto my bed. "Because my dad thinks I'm in danger or something. Which apparently justifies ruining my entire social life."
Sam sat beside me, thoughtful. "Maybe if you saw it from a different perspective..."
"It's not about perspective," I grumbled. "You know me. I like to go out, show off, live loud. And now I'm supposed to drag a complete stranger behind me like I'm in a spy movie?"
She giggled. "Well, how's he gonna protect you if you're his height? Does he even have abs?"
I laughed for the first time in hours. "Girl, he's huge. Like huge-huge. And not in a weird way. He's got this... vibe."
"Is he light-skinned?"
"No. He's dark. Smooth. Wait..." I turned to her. "Did you say light-skinned?"
"Yeah. The guy I saw with your dad was totally light-skinned."
My stomach dropped. I only knew one light-skinned guy who had the audacity to show up uninvited.
Mark.
I bolted out of the room.
Upstairs, there he was-legs crossed like he owned the place. The man who had cheated on me with my best friend. The man who didn't deserve to breathe my air.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed.
He stood, all faux concern and fake apologies. He started some speech, talking about calls and texts and second chances. I barely listened. My rage was too loud.
Then he dropped it-said my dad wanted him to take me to his mother's boutique.
That's when I snapped.
I folded my arms. "And why the hell would I do that?"
He smirked. "Because your driver's on leave and you can't drive."
There it was. That arrogance. That manipulation. The same twisted charm that used to fool me.
But not anymore.
He reached for my arm. I pulled away. "Let go of me."
"Come off it, Regina," he snapped. "You cheated too. Let's just move past it."
I laughed. Loud. Unapologetic.
"You know what's funny? You standing here pretending like you're the victim."
Then he grabbed my arm again-harder this time-and tried to pull me toward his car.
"Let me go!" I yelled, struggling against his grip.
And then-him.
"Let her go. This instant."
Dante's voice cut through the air like a blade-deep, commanding, and deadly calm.
Mark froze.
I froze.
Everything in the world went still.
And in that moment, I knew two things for certain:
Mark was about to learn what a real man looked like.
And I was in way more trouble than I thought.