Chapter 6 – House Arrest with a Stranger

I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside my bedroom door. Heavy ones. Measured. Confident.

For a brief, disoriented second, I thought maybe it was a dream—then I remembered the bullet casing with my name on it.

Not a dream.

A very expensive, very real nightmare.

I swung my legs out of bed, tugged on a robe, and cracked the door open. Cole was standing in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall like a statue with muscles.

“Morning,” he said, eyes flicking up from his phone.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Four hours is plenty.”

“Four hours is a sign of a medical problem.”

“Occupational hazard.”

I stepped out, crossing my arms. “So what’s today’s schedule, Sergeant Control Freak? Another round of watching me breathe?”

His mouth twitched. “Breakfast first. Then your father wants you to stay inside. We’re reviewing the footage from last night.”

“Inside,” I repeated. “As in, I can’t leave?”

“As in, no.”

I stared at him. “So I’m under house arrest now?”

“Call it protective confinement.”

I gave him a sweet smile. “I’ll call it prison.”

He didn’t rise to the bait, which only made me more irritated. “You can walk around the property,” he said. “Just not beyond the gates. Not until I say it’s clear.”

“Oh, lucky me. I can take a stroll through my father’s manicured backyard. Maybe I’ll wave at the security cameras while I’m at it.”

He didn’t respond, which made me feel like I was shouting at a wall.

“You know,” I said finally, “you could at least pretend to be sorry that my life’s been reduced to a hostage situation.”

He looked up from his phone then, those calm gray eyes locking onto mine. “I am sorry, Ariana. But I’d rather you hate me and live through this than like me and end up dead.”

That shut me up.

He turned and started down the hall. “Breakfast. Ten minutes.”

I muttered something unprintable under my breath and went back to get dressed.

Downstairs, Julia had made pancakes—bless her—and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Cole was already at the table, black T-shirt, tactical pants, earpiece in, like he was prepping for a mission instead of eggs and syrup.

“You do realize this is breakfast, not combat training?” I said, sitting across from him.

He didn’t look up from his phone. “You’d be surprised how similar the two can be.”

I stabbed a pancake with unnecessary force. “You ever take a break? Watch a movie? Laugh?”

“Not recently.”

“That explains a lot.”

Julia passed by, smiling politely before retreating to the kitchen. The silence between us stretched. I tried not to notice how broad his shoulders were, or how the sunlight caught in his hair. Nope. Not noticing.

Finally, I pushed my plate away. “I’m going for a swim.”

“Not alone.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I stood. “You’re not seriously telling me you’re coming to the pool with me.”

“I’m telling you I don’t let my client out of sight.”

“Client? I’m not a client, Cole. I’m a prisoner with good hair.”

He didn’t even blink. “Grab your towel.”

I huffed, spinning on my heel and heading toward the patio. The man was impossible.

The pool shimmered under the late-morning sun, blue and perfect and taunting me with freedom I didn’t have. I tossed my robe onto a chair and dove in, the cool water wrapping around me like quiet rebellion.

For five blessed minutes, it was just me and the water—no cameras, no shadows, no Cole Maddox—until I surfaced and saw him standing at the edge, arms folded, sunglasses on, the full bodyguard pose.

“Enjoying the show?” I called.

“Making sure you don’t drown,” he said.

“I’ve been swimming since I was six.”

“People who’ve been swimming their whole lives drown too.”

I splashed water at him, mostly out of spite. “You’re infuriating.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. “And you’re reckless.”

I swam to the edge, resting my chin on my arms. “You don’t even know me, Maddox.”

“I know enough to keep you alive.”

“Really? What’s my favorite color, then?”

He hesitated, and I grinned. “Thought so.”

“Color doesn’t keep you safe,” he said finally.

“Neither does acting like a robot.”

Something flickered behind his sunglasses—amusement maybe—but he turned away before I could confirm it.

When I climbed out, I caught him subtly looking anywhere but at me. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

As I grabbed my towel, he said quietly, “You should stay out of sight for the next few hours. I have a meeting with your father’s security team.”

“Perfect,” I said sweetly. “I’ll just be in my gilded cage if anyone needs me.”

He started to walk away, but I called after him, “Hey, Cole?”

He stopped, half-turned.

“You ever think maybe I don’t want to be saved?”

His voice was soft but firm. “Then you’re not the only one who doesn’t get a choice.”

And then he was gone.

By noon, I’d already paced the length of the hallway twelve times, checked my phone twice as many, and decided that being alive wasn’t worth this kind of boredom.

Cole had disappeared somewhere in the house, supposedly in a “security briefing.” Translation: talking about me behind closed doors.

I wandered toward the library just to do something. My father’s idea of comfort was an army of old books no one actually read. I ran my fingers along the shelves, half tempted to start rearranging them just to mess with his system.

The quiet was unbearable.

That’s when I heard the low murmur of voices down the hall. I froze, listening.

“—need tighter surveillance,” one of them said. “We can’t risk another breach.”

Cole’s voice came next, firm and steady. “I’ll handle it. But if she feels trapped, it’ll make my job harder.”

“She’s a Blake,” the other voice replied. “She’ll adapt.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cole said.

Something in the way he said it—almost protective—made my chest tighten.

The door creaked suddenly, and I ducked behind a column like an actual child. Cole stepped out first, phone in hand, brow furrowed. He looked different when he wasn’t in guard mode—tired, human.

As soon as he turned the corner, curiosity got the better of me. I crept down the hall and peeked into the room. It wasn’t one I recognized; probably one of the guest suites. But the moment I stepped inside, I realized it wasn’t just any room—it was his.

The bed was neatly made, boots lined by the wall, duffel bag at the foot. On the desk, a laptop glowed faintly beside a stack of files.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. I stepped closer.

The top file had my name on it.

Ariana Blake. Age 27. Occupation: Philanthropy director, Blake Holdings. Threat level: high.

I swallowed hard, flipping the page before I could stop myself. There were photos. Of me. At the charity gala, at my office, even leaving the hospital. Every move cataloged, every expression frozen.

It felt… invasive. Like someone had mapped out my life on paper.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

I jumped, spinning around. Cole stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, voice low and calm in that way that was somehow scarier than shouting.

“I was—just looking for the—”

“Library’s three doors down.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe label your rooms next time.”

He stepped closer. “You went through my files.”

“They were right there. And they had my name on them.”

“That doesn’t make them yours.”

“It kind of does, actually!” I snapped. “You’ve got pictures of me like some stalker with a government badge!”

“It’s security documentation.”

“It’s creepy!”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ariana, this is how I keep you safe. Every route you take, every contact you make—if I don’t know it, I can’t protect you.”

I stared at him, trying to decide if he really believed that or if it was just an excuse. “You don’t protect people by turning them into case files, Cole.”

His eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw something there—regret maybe, or guilt—but it vanished fast.

“I don’t have the luxury of getting attached,” he said quietly.

That hit harder than I expected.

“Good,” I said after a beat, even though my voice came out shakier than I wanted. “Because I’d hate for you to waste any feelings on your prisoner.”

I turned to go, but his hand shot out, catching my wrist. Not rough—just enough to stop me.

“Ariana,” he said softly.

Something in his tone made me stop.

His eyes were steady on mine. “You think I like this? Watching someone else’s life from behind glass? I don’t. But the people who came after you—they don’t care about rules, or privacy, or what you think you deserve. They care about finishing the job.”

I tried to pull away. “Then maybe you should be out there finding them instead of breathing down my neck.”

His grip loosened. “If I leave your side, you’re dead in an hour.”

My heart hammered. “You really believe that?”

“Yes.”

We stood there, the air between us thick, charged, and silent.

Finally, I stepped back. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

He nodded once. “Guess I am.”

I walked past him without another word, even though my pulse was still racing.

For the rest of the afternoon, I did my best to avoid him.

Which, as it turned out, was impossible.

Every time I turned a corner, Cole was there. In the hallway, outside the study, even when I went to make tea. He wasn’t hovering exactly, but he was always close enough to remind me that privacy was now a myth.

By four o’clock, my nerves were stretched thin.

“Do you have to stand there?” I asked, glaring over my shoulder as I scrolled through emails on the couch.

He didn’t even look up from his tablet. “Yes.”

“You know, normal people use chairs.”

“I’m not here to be normal.”

“Clearly.”

He finally looked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You’d rather I sit next to you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. “You’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot.”

I tossed a pillow at him. He caught it without looking, like some kind of reflex machine.

“See?” I said. “Robot.”

“Discipline.”

“Arrogance.”

“Survival.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my laptop. He was infuriatingly calm. Like nothing I said could rattle him. It was honestly more irritating than if he’d yelled back.

An hour later, the house had settled into its usual quiet hum. My father was still in his office, probably rewriting the constitution of the world or whatever billionaires did for fun. I decided to retreat to my room—away from Cole, away from the security cameras, away from everything.

But halfway up the stairs, I heard a faint voice coming from the study. A low murmur.

Cole’s voice.

Curiosity tugged at me again. I crept down the hall and stopped by the half-open door. He was on the phone, pacing slowly, expression tense—different from the calm, unreadable version of him I usually saw.

“—no, I can’t leave her,” he was saying quietly. “You know what’s at stake. If they find out—”

A pause. My pulse quickened.

“Because it’s not just about her, that’s why,” he continued, voice low but urgent. “You think I wanted this assignment? She’s—” He stopped, glancing toward the doorway.

I froze, heart pounding.

He hadn’t seen me, but his shoulders stiffened like he felt me there.

“Yeah,” he said finally, tone shifting to something harder, colder. “I’ll handle it. Just keep your end clean.”

The call ended. Silence.

Then he turned.

Caught.

His gaze met mine—gray steel, sharp and unreadable. “Enjoying the eavesdropping?”

I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t—”

“Listening?” His voice was quiet, too quiet. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I took a step back. “Who were you talking to?”

“Work.”

“That didn’t sound like work.”

He pocketed his phone. “You shouldn’t be sneaking around, Ariana.”

“And you shouldn’t be keeping secrets.”

We stood there again, staring each other down, neither of us blinking.

“Tell me,” I said finally. “Who’s after me, Cole? And what aren’t you saying?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.

“Fine,” I said, turning toward the stairs. “Keep your secrets. But don’t expect me to trust you.”

I’d barely made it two steps when his voice stopped me.

“It’s not me you shouldn’t trust.”

I looked back at him. “What does that mean?”

He hesitated—then said quietly, “Your father’s the one who got you into this.”

My breath caught. “What?”

But before I could press him, his phone buzzed again. He checked the screen, and his face hardened.

“Get your things,” he said suddenly. “Now.”

“Why?”

“Because someone just breached the outer gate.”

I froze. “What—how—”

He was already moving, pulling his weapon from its holster. “No time. Move!”

Through the window behind him, floodlights flared to life in the distance—bright, white, and far too close.

“Cole!” I shouted. “What’s happening?”

He looked back at me once, eyes sharp and steady. “They found us