[LINA]
When my father found him, Dylan had been barely twelve years old, a boy weathered by the cruel realities of war.
And yet, even in the depths of his despair, Father saw something in him—potential, strength, loyalty.
He brought Dylan to our estate, tasked with becoming my personal bodyguard. I was only ten at the time, a sheltered girl who had known nothing but privilege and safety.
But Dylan was a stark contrast to my world—scarred, silent, and carrying a weight that even my young mind recognized as unbearable.
His presence unsettled me at first. He wasn't just intimidating; he was otherworldly, like a statue carved from stone but with eyes that held the storm of every battle he'd fought.
