Kayla Montgomery had never liked feeling cornered. Yet here she was, sitting in her New York City penthouse, trying to figure out how her life had turned into a whirlwind of threats, shadows, and menacing phone calls. Her hands trembled slightly as she looked at the last email that had come in—another cryptic warning, another glimpse into the nightmare unfolding around her. She didn't ask for this. She didn't need anyone's protection.

But fate, or perhaps something far worse, had different plans for her.

A knock echoed at the door, hard and authoritative. It wasn't the soft, polite knock of a friend or a visitor. This was the kind of knock that demanded attention. Kayla froze, her heart racing as she glanced at the clock. It was barely 9:30 AM. She wasn't expecting anyone.

A voice followed the knock, a low, confident tone that set her on edge.

"Miss Montgomery, we need to talk."

She didn't recognize the voice, but the words were clear. He wasn't asking for permission; he was telling her what was going to happen.

Gripping the edge of the couch, Kayla stood up, her body tense, ready to fight if needed. She'd always been strong—physically and mentally. No one was going to intimidate her, especially not some stranger.

The door opened without her permission, and there he stood.

At 6'2", the man filled the doorway like a wall of muscle and power. His eyes were dark, intense, and cold—almost too much for her to bear in the dimly lit space. His jaw was sharp, his dark hair cropped short, and his jawline was like granite. He wasn't the kind of man anyone would look past.

"Kayla Montgomery?" His voice was deep and commanding, yet there was a subtle note of authority, as if he was accustomed to being obeyed.

She crossed her arms, keeping her distance. "Who the hell are you?"

"Jeff Winters. I'm your bodyguard." He stepped into the room, his presence suffocating, like a storm cloud settling in. His eyes scanned her, not with admiration, but with the cool detachment of someone who had seen it all before.

"A bodyguard?" She laughed bitterly. "I don't need one."

"I think you do," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "You've been targeted. There's been a threat against you."

Kayla's chest tightened, and she couldn't hide the flicker of panic that surged beneath the surface. She quickly smothered it, hating the vulnerability she felt at that moment. She wasn't some helpless damsel in distress.

"I'm fine. I don't need you," she snapped, her voice firm.

Jeff didn't flinch. "You do," he said simply. "I'm here to keep you safe, whether you like it or not."

She glared at him, fury rising in her veins. She was a woman who had worked hard to build a life on her own terms, without anyone's help, and now here was this imposing man, stepping into her space, telling her what she needed. It made her blood boil.

"I can take care of myself," she said, her voice dangerously low.

Jeff studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read her every movement, every reaction. It felt like he was dissecting her, understanding more about her in that one stare than anyone had in years.

"Clearly," he murmured, though his voice held no trace of admiration, only a quiet challenge. "But I'm not here to argue. I'm here to protect you. So unless you want this to get messy, I suggest you start listening."

Kayla's temper flared, but she managed to suppress it, taking a deep breath. "I don't want anyone following me around. I'm not some helpless princess who needs a knight in shining armor."

"You'll need more than a knight," Jeff said, his tone dropping to a near growl. "You're a target. These people—whoever they are—don't care about your independence. They care about getting what they want, and that might just be you."

His words hit harder than she expected. The weight of them pressed against her chest, but she refused to let them show. She wasn't weak.

"I'm not scared of threats," she said, trying to sound confident, even though something in her gut twisted at the thought.

"You should be," he replied quietly.

There was something about him—something cold and methodical—that made her stomach tighten. He wasn't just any bodyguard. He wasn't here because he was being paid to keep her alive. There was a professionalism in his demeanor, a quiet, terrifying intensity that screamed of past battles, of lives lived on the edge. His eyes were full of ghosts, and she couldn't decide if that made him more dangerous—or more fascinating.

Kayla took a step back. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here. So, whatever this is—take it and leave."

For a moment, Jeff said nothing, just watched her with those dark eyes that made her feel both exposed and electrified. He was waiting for her to break, for her to surrender, and that was exactly why she wouldn't.

"You don't get to decide this, Kayla," he said, his voice low, with a finality that made her shiver. "I'm here, and I'm staying. You'll learn to deal with it."

Kayla stared at him, eyes narrowing. She wasn't used to being talked down to. And she certainly wasn't used to being told what to do, especially not by a man who wasn't even asking for permission.

"So, what now?" she asked, trying to mask the quiver in her voice.

"Now," Jeff said, his lips curling slightly as if he found amusement in her defiance, "you stop trying to push me away, and you let me do my job. Because if you don't, it won't just be me who's watching over you. It'll be the people who want to see you dead."

The silence that followed was thick, but it wasn't the end. It was just the beginning. And Kayla knew deep down that this was the last time her life would be simple.