THE BODYGUARD'S SECRET

The house had never felt like a prison before.

Y/N sat curled up on the velvet couch in the grand living room, pretending to read while her eyes drifted to the tall glass windows overlooking the quiet garden. Outside, autumn leaves scattered across the stone path, the world calm, still, and almost peaceful. If she looked long enough, she could almost convince herself that her father’s warnings were an exaggeration—that the threats, the strange letters, the shadows lurking too close were all just paranoia.

Almost.

Her fingers tightened around the book, though she hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. The sharp click of footsteps pulled her attention, and her father entered the room with a man trailing behind him. The air shifted.

He wasn’t just another staff member.

The man moved with precision—polished shoes striking the marble floor in deliberate, steady rhythm. He carried no warmth in his presence, only the kind of authority that made the walls themselves seem smaller. His suit was tailored perfectly, the black fabric sculpting his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dark hair fell neatly across his forehead, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

But it was his eyes that unsettled her. Dark, unreadable, sharp as if they had memorized every detail of the room in a glance.

“Y/N,” her father’s voice broke her trance, firm as always. “This is Kim Taehyung. He’ll be your new bodyguard.”

Her lips parted. “My what?”

Her father’s jaw tightened. “Given the recent threats, I can’t risk your safety. He’ll stay by your side until things settle down.”

Y/N set her book aside, heat rising in her chest. “Dad, this is ridiculous. A bodyguard? I don’t need someone following me around like I’m a child.”

Her father’s brows arched. “You don’t have a choice.”

She turned toward the stranger, glaring. “And what about him? Do I get a say in this at all?”

For the first time, the man spoke. His voice was low, deep, carrying the weight of steel and shadow.

“No. You don’t.”

Y/N blinked at him, stunned by the bluntness. “Excuse me?”

His gaze held hers, calm and unwavering. “Your routine is careless. You walk alone. You don’t notice who follows you. You assume your name protects you, but that kind of arrogance gets people killed.”

Anger prickled under her skin. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to,” Taehyung replied flatly. “I’ve already seen enough.”

She rose to her feet, standing as tall as she could though she barely reached his shoulder. “Listen, Mr. Kim—”

“Taehyung,” he corrected, eyes flicking briefly to her, expression unreadable.

Her frustration only deepened. “Fine. Taehyung. I don’t care how skilled you think you are, I don’t need you controlling my every move.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance with quiet confidence that made her pulse quicken. He didn’t have to raise his voice; the quiet weight of his words was enough.

“I wasn’t hired to care what you want. I was hired to keep you alive. Whether you like it or not.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to throw his arrogance back at him, but something about the way he spoke made it clear—this wasn’t a man who bluffed.

Taehyung turned to her father. “I’ll need full access to her schedules, her contacts, her usual routes. From today, nothing she does goes unsupervised.”

Her father nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? Are you serious? That’s insane!”

Taehyung glanced back at her, his gaze steady, unreadable. “I don’t play games, Miss Y/N. You’ll listen. Or you won’t last.”

The words sank deep, chilling, not because they sounded like a threat—but because they sounded like a promise.

Her father dismissed the conversation and walked away, leaving her alone with the stranger now assigned to shadow her every step. The silence between them stretched, heavy, suffocating.

Finally, Y/N crossed her arms. “So what? You’re just going to follow me everywhere like some kind of shadow?”

The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smirk, but not quite. “Exactly.”

Her heart skipped at the cold certainty in his tone. She wanted to hate him, to push him away, but as his gaze swept once more across the windows, the corners of the ceiling, the doors—she realized something.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking for threats.

And for the first time, Y/N wondered if maybe—just maybe—her father had been right.

Still, that didn’t mean she had to like it.