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The security guard at the gate leans out of his booth, eyeing me suspiciously. "Can I help you, sir?"
I flash my credentials, the gold shield glinting under the sun. "Axel Creed, Sentinel Security. I'm here to see Sasha Cruz."
His eyes widen in recognition, and he nods quickly, pressing a button to open the gate. "Ms. Cruz is expecting you. Second house on the left, can't miss it."
I drive through the gate, the tires crunching on the perfectly manicured gravel. The houses here are sprawling estates, each one a testament to wealth and success. But I'm not here to admire the architecture.
I park in front of Sasha's house, a modern masterpiece of glass and wood that seems to blend seamlessly into the surrounding landscape. I step out of the car, my heart pounding in anticipation of seeing her again.
The front door opens, and there she is. She looks like a dream, a fantasy come to life.
Sasha.
She's even more beautiful than I remembered, her curves hugged by a form-fitting dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her hair cascades down her back in a waterfall of dark curls, and her eyes—those eyes that have haunted my dreams—are fixed on me with an intensity that steals my breath.
But the reality of the situation comes crashing down as I see the fear in her eyes and the way her hands tremble at her sides. She's put on a brave face for the world, but I can see the cracks in her armor.
"Thank you for coming," she says, gesturing for me to follow her into the living room. "I know this isn't exactly a normal assignment for you."
"Nothing about this is normal," I mutter under my breath, but she hears me anyway, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"No, I suppose not." She settles onto the couch, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankle. "But then again, normal was never really our thing, was it?"
I bite back a smirk, memories of that night flooding my mind unbidden. "No, it wasn't."
She clears her throat, steering the conversation back to safer territory. "So, what's the plan? How do we catch this creep?"
I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. "First things first, we need to assess your current security measures. I need to know what we're working with."
She nods, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. "I'll give you full access. Whatever you need."
"Good." I stand, my eyes scanning the room with a critical eye. "Let's start with the basics. Show me your security system."
She leads me to a control panel near the front door, her fingers deftly entering the access code. "State-of-the-art," she says proudly. "Motion sensors, cameras, the works."
I study the display, my brow furrowing. "It's a good start, but there are some weak points. The cameras have blind spots, and the motion sensors are too easily triggered by false alarms."
She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. "So what do you suggest?"
"We'll need to upgrade the system," I reply, already making mental notes of the changes that need to be made. "And we'll need to add some additional security measures. Panic buttons, safe rooms, escape routes."
She nods, a flicker of fear in her eyes. "Whatever it takes. I just want to feel safe again."
I meet her gaze, my voice softening. "I know. And I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to make that happen."
She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I feel that familiar spark between us—that electric current that seems to hum in the air whenever we're together. But she looks away, breaking the spell.
"Thank you, Axel. I know I'm in good hands with you."
"Always," I murmur, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
We spend the next few hours going over every inch of her penthouse, identifying potential security risks and developing a comprehensive plan to address them. By the time we're finished, I'm confident that her home is as secure as it can be.
My team sets up shop in what Sasha called "the cottage,” though it’s larger than most people's homes. On my first night alone in that space, I lay awake on a bed that isn’t mine, surrounded by walls that echo silence rather than gunfire or orders barked over comms. My mind won’t shut off—it spins up scenarios, escape plans, and defensive strategies.
The professional part of me kicks into high gear. Cameras are checked and rechecked; patrols are doubled down on their sweeps of the grounds. The staff is vetted again—even those who have been with Sasha for years aren’t above suspicion. Every piece of mail is scrutinized; no detail is too small in crafting her shields against this threat.
But as much as I fortify her fortress, my own walls are crumbling brick by brick with each passing day. Seeing her move through her life with such grace under pressure stokes fires I thought were long extinguished. And goddamn if it doesn’t burn me up inside to see that fear flicker in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.
