Calista


    The morning light streams through my bedroom window, bouncing off the array of designer bags


    and shoes that popte my sanctuary. I''m scrolling through my social media feed, double-tapping


    on photos that barely hold my interest, when there''s a knock on my door. It''s probably one of my


    existing bodyguards, reminding me of some mundane errand I have to run today.


    Instead, the door creaks open and my father steps in. His aura fills the room like a cloud of stern


    disapproval. “Calista, we need to talk,” he says, the weight of his authority in each syble.


    I roll my eyes. “I''m busy, Daddy.”This belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    He strides across the room, ignoring the clutter, and sits on the edge of my bed. “This is important,


    Calista. More important than whatever party you''re nning to attend tonight.”


    “Highly unlikely,” I quip, but he’s notughing.


    “I''ve arranged for a new bodyguard to join your team,” he says, not a hint of humour in his eyes.


    I snort. “Another one? I already have two. What''s wrong with Nikos and Yianni?” I ask, putting my


    phone down. “I already have the two of them tailing me everywhere I go, ruining my life. What''s he


    going to do, carry my bags? I don''t need another one!” My voice rises, the pitch nearing frustration.


    I snort at the thought.


    Even though he’s probably the most attractive man I''ve everid eyes on, my pride won''t allow me


    to admit I was wrong.


    “Calista, meet Armata, your new bodyguard.”


    For a moment, I''m too stunned to speak. Then, regaining myposure, realising this man is


    named after a frigging Russian tank. What a fitting name.


    “Well, you certainly look menacing enough, but I still don''t think I need a babysitter,” I snap,


    standing up. “Especially not some broody, lumberjack-wannabe.”


    “Calista,” my father warns.


    The corner of Armata’s mouth twitches, like he''s stifling a grin. He meets my gaze, his eyes dark and


    intense, and for a second, I feel a shiver run down my spine. There''s something in those eyes, a


    shadow I can''t identify.


    “ assure you, my purpose isn''t to babysit, but to protect,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that


    somehow fills the room.


    I roll my eyes and scoff. “Well, I already have protection, as you can see. So don''t get too


    comfortable.”


    He just nods, unfazed by my brattiness, and that irritates me even more. I''m used to getting


    reactions, to bending people to my will, but this guy stands like a fortress, immovable and towering.


    Turning my heels sharply, I storm out of the office, letting the door m behind me. A bodyguard


    may be able to intimidate, but I''m not some damsel in distress who needs constant watching over.


    This man may be a sight to behold, but as far as I''m concerned, he''s just another prison guard in a


    life that''s increasingly bing a cage.


    Still, as I walk away, I can''t quite shake the sensation that erupted within me when our eyes met. It''s


    a feeling that tells me Armata isn''t like the others, that he carries something dark and intense within


    him. And whether I like it or not, that makes him far more dangerous than any faceless threat.


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