chapter 5. The bullet casing

By the time I was discharged, I was sure I’d aged a decade. My father’s assistant had dropped off a change of clothes—black leggings, a loose sweater, and flats that probably cost more than most cars. Cole stood by the door the entire time, a silent shadow while I tried to remember what privacy felt like.

“Ready?” he asked when the nurse finally removed my IV.

“No,” I said flatly. “But I don’t think that’s an option, is it?”

He held the door open anyway. “Not really.”

Outside, a sleek black SUV waited at the curb, tinted windows and all. Of course it was black. Everything my father owned was black—his cars, his credit cards, probably his soul.

Cole opened the back door for me, but I slid into the front passenger seat instead. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

The drive was quiet at first. The city blurred past the windows in streaks of gray and glass. I caught glimpses of normal people—someone laughing on the phone, a couple sharing fries, a dog poking its head out a window—and it all felt impossibly distant.

“Do you ever turn the music on?” I asked suddenly.

“Distraction,” he said simply.

“You say that like it’s a disease.”

“It gets people killed.”

I gave him a sideways look. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

He smirked faintly. “Not paid to entertain you.”

“No, just to babysit me apparently.”

“Bodyguard,” he corrected.

“Same difference.”

We stopped at a red light, and for a moment, his eyes met mine. Steady. Assessing. There was no mockery in them, just that calm awareness that made me feel like he already knew everything I was thinking.

“Do you always argue with people trying to keep you alive?” he asked.

“Only when they act like it’s my fault I need saving.”

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to.

When we pulled up to the Blake estate—a mansion the size of a small museum—I felt the familiar mix of resentment and exhaustion settle in. The gates opened automatically, cameras swiveling toward us. My father’s world was all walls and security. Funny how that still hadn’t kept me safe.

Cole parked in front of the main steps. “Stay close,” he said.

“Why? You think I’m going to get ambushed by my gardener?”

“Just humor me.”

I rolled my eyes but followed him up the steps. The front doors swung open before we reached them. Julia, our longtime housekeeper, rushed forward, eyes wide.

“Oh, Miss Ariana!” she cried, pulling me into a hug. “We were so worried!”

“I’m fine,” I said, hugging her back. “Really. Just a few scratches.”

Her gaze flicked to Cole, taking in his imposing frame and the gun holstered discreetly at his side. “And this must be your new… assistant?”

“Something like that,” I muttered.

“Bodyguard,” Cole said simply, offering his hand. “Cole Maddox.”

Julia hesitated, then shook it. “Well. You’ll have your hands full with this one.”

“Already noticed,” he replied, deadpan.

I groaned. “Fantastic. You two can bond over how impossible I am.”

Cole’s lips twitched again, the faintest hint of amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Inside, the house felt the same as always—cold, perfect, too quiet. My father’s voice carried from his office down the hall, low and controlled as he finished a phone call.

When he saw us, he ended the call mid-sentence. “Good. You’re home.”

“‘Home’ sounds like a stretch,” I said.

“Cole,” he said, ignoring me, “I trust the arrangements are acceptable?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve already secured the perimeter. I’ll do a sweep every four hours until we establish a safer routine.”

“Good man.”

I crossed my arms. “You two are adorable. Can I get a say in this ‘routine,’ or are you going to assign me a bedtime too?”

My father shot me that warning look that had shut down CEOs twice my age. “Don’t start, Ariana. This is for your protection.”

“Protection,” I repeated. “Right.” I turned to Cole. “Do you even have a life, or is following me around all day your new full-time hobby?”

He didn’t flinch. “I go where the job takes me.”

“Good news,” my father said smoothly. “The job takes you here. Cole will be living on-site.”

I nearly choked. “Living here? As in—in the same house?”

“In the guest wing, yes.”

“Dad!”

“This is not a discussion, Ariana.”

I looked at Cole, expecting him to object, but he was as calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back.

“Great,” I said. “So I can’t sneeze without you filing a security report now?”

He glanced at me. “Only if it sounds suspicious.”

I glared at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said again, though I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

My father turned back to his desk, already dismissing the subject. “Dinner at seven. Cole, you’ll sit in as well. I want you fully briefed on her schedule.”

“Of course,” Cole replied.

I threw my hands up. “Wonderful. Can’t wait to be the center of everyone’s favorite control experiment.”

I stormed out of the office before either of them could answer.

Dinner was awkward.

Not quiet-awkward—hostile-awkward. The kind where every sound, every clink of silverware, felt like a countdown to an explosion.

My father sat at the head of the table, scrolling through his phone between bites. Cole sat to my right, posture straight, eyes scanning every window like a soldier expecting an ambush in the dining room.

“Eat something,” my father said without looking up.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need your strength.”

“I need freedom,” I muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Cole’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

My father set his phone down. “Ariana, we are not doing this. Not here, not tonight.”

“Oh, so you can control when I argue now too?”

He exhaled sharply. “Do you think I enjoy this? Watching my daughter nearly die, having to assign her a guard just to keep her breathing?”

“I think you enjoy control. This is just a new flavor.”

The air went heavy. Even the clock on the wall seemed to hesitate.

Then Cole said quietly, “She’s right about one thing.”

My father’s gaze snapped to him. “Excuse me?”

Cole leaned back slightly, calm as ever. “You can’t protect her from everything. You hired me to keep her safe, not to lock her away.”

For the first time in my life, someone actually spoke back to Henry Blake—and survived the sentence.

My father studied him for a long second, then said, “Just make sure she stays alive, Mr. Maddox. How you do it is up to you.”

He stood and left the room without another word.

I stared after him, then turned to Cole. “Did you just—talk back to my father?”

“Looked like he needed to hear it.”

I laughed, shocked. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Not recently.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Gets me through the day.”

After dinner, I escaped to the terrace for air. The night was warm, the city lights glowing beyond the hills. I wrapped my arms around myself and let the silence settle—until the soft crunch of footsteps behind me made me jump.

“Relax,” Cole said.

I turned. “Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

“It’s part of the job description.”

I leaned on the railing. “You really think this arrangement’s going to work?”

He shrugged. “It has to.”

“Because my father says so?”

“Because whoever came after you won’t stop until they finish the job.”

The reminder sent a chill through me. “You think they’ll try again?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

I turned to face him fully. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

We stood there in silence for a moment. He was so still, so composed, it almost annoyed me. I wanted to shake him, to make him feel something.

“You ever get tired of acting like a robot?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “You ever get tired of pretending you’re not scared?”

That one hit a little too close.

I looked away, focusing on the glittering skyline. “You don’t know me.”

“Not yet,” he said.

The way he said it—quiet, confident—sent a strange shiver through me.

Before I could answer, a voice crackled through the small earpiece in his ear. He pressed a finger to it, listening. His entire body went still.

“What is it?” I asked.

He didn’t respond right away, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the trees. “Motion sensors,” he murmured finally. “Outer fence.”

I blinked. “Motion sensors? As in—someone’s out there?”

He moved fast—already drawing his gun, stepping between me and the yard. “Get inside. Now.”

“What? Cole—”

“Inside, Ariana!”

Something in his tone made me obey without argument. I hurried toward the door, but before I could reach it, the security lights flared across the lawn.

A tall figure stood at the gate. Just one. Not moving.

Cole raised his weapon. “Identify yourself!”

The figure didn’t answer. Just stood there, half in shadow.

“Who is that?” I whispered.

He didn’t lower the gun. “Get your father,” he said.

“Why? Who—”

“Because,” he said grimly, “that’s not one of our men.”

And then, as the lights brightened, the figure lifted something in the air—something small, metallic—before dropping it onto the ground and walking away into the dark.

Cole ran forward a few steps but stopped short.

“What is it?” I called.

He crouched, then looked back at me, his face hard. “A warning.”

My stomach twisted. “What kind of warning?”

He stood, holding up a small object between his fingers. Even from the terrace, I recognized it.

It was a bullet casing.

And carved into the side of it, in tiny letters, was a single word: Ariana.