The first glance

The First Glance

The sound of polished shoes echoed against the marble foyer.

Ariana stood at the top of the staircase, arms folded in rebellion, lips set in a scowl. The heels of her feet were bare against the warm wood. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her silk shorts and oversized hoodie.

Below, the front door clicked open.

And he walked in.

The man her father had apparently assigned to stalk her every move.

But Ariana’s breath caught — just for a second.

Tall.

That was the first thing she noticed.

The kind of tall that made ceilings nervous. He had to be 6’4, broad-shouldered and lean, like he belonged on a runway in Milan or stepping out of a luxury car commercial.

His skin was a rich golden brown, kissed by the sun but polished like a man who knew his worth. His jaw was sharp, clean-shaven, and defined enough to cut glass. Dark brows sat over intense hazel eyes, eyes that looked like they’d seen too much and said too little.

His black suit clung to him like it had been stitched with desire in mind — expensive, neat, but not flashy. Underneath, a black shirt hugged a sculpted chest, and his fingers, long and masculine, clutched a leather folder like it was a mission file.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t need to.

Ariana blinked. Then raised a brow and descended the stairs with calculated annoyance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear. “This is who he sends? A bodyguard in a suit with a face like he owns half of Manhattan?”

Liam—no, Logan , as far as she was allowed to know—looked up, unreadable.

“Miss Westbrook,” he said with a nod. His voice was deep, smooth, and professional. “I’m your new assigned chauffeur. I’ll be handling all your scheduled transport and security movements as directed.”

Ariana stopped three steps above him, smirking down. “Oh, so you talk. Great. Look, Logan , or whatever your name is—this isn’t some Fast & Furious audition, okay? I don’t need some overgrown secret agent babysitting me.”

His gaze met hers—steady. Unmoving. Like a wall she couldn't dent.

“I’m not here to babysit you, ma’am. I’m here to drive and ensure your safety. What you choose to do is your business.”

“Oh, how noble,” she drawled sarcastically. “Do you take tips, or is my freedom enough payment?”

He remained silent.

She hated that.

She hated that he didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight back.

He just stood there. Cool. Controlled. Untouchable.

“Well?” she asked sharply. “Do you at least know how to drive a Bentley?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly. “And a Lamborghini. A Rolls. A Tesla. A Bugatti. And if needed, a tank.”

The corner of his lips twitched. Barely.

Ariana scoffed. “Funny. You’ll need one if you’re planning to keep up with me.”

“Noted.”

She brushed past him, ignoring how he smelled—clean spice and subtle wood, like expensive cologne and bad decisions.

“Get the car ready,” she said without looking back. “I’m not waiting all day.”

Logan watched her walk ahead, his expression unreadable.

But deep inside, behind that calm mask, a storm brewed.

He didn’t come here just to drive.

He came here to watch her.

To get close.

To destroy her father’s empire from the inside.

But Ariana Westbrook was nothing like he expected.

And that… was dangerous.

—

Logan walked behind her, expression unreadable, his polished steps measured and confident. He reached for the keys on the hallway console, but paused when she turned suddenly, arms folded, head tilted with suspicion.

“There’s something about you I don’t like,” she said coolly, eyes narrowing. “You’re too… calm. Too controlled. Like you’re pretending.”

Logan met her gaze without blinking. “You don’t have to like me, Miss Westbrook. You just have to trust me to do my job.”

She took a step closer.

“I don’t trust people who don’t flinch. Or smile. Or blink.”

He didn’t move. “Then we understand each other perfectly.”

She scoffed, brushing past him again, swinging the front door open.

Logan watched her walk ahead, her heels clicking against the marble like war drums. She didn’t spare him another glance.

He didn’t need one.

He could feel it already — this assignment would be nothing like the others.

She was wild.

She was reckless.

She was… in the way.

He reached into his pocket, thumb brushing the encrypted comm-link embedded into the side of his phone.

It buzzed once.

A new message. No sender.

> “Don’t get too close. She can’t know who you are. Not yet.”

Logan ’s jaw tightened.

But before he could respond, a loud bang echoed from the back of the estate.

Ariana turned sharply. “What the hell was that?”

Then came the screech of tires. A black SUV swerved just outside the gate—then stopped. Windows tinted. Engine humming.

Logan 's eyes narrowed. His entire posture shifted.

Something was off.

He stepped forward, subtly moving in front of Ariana.

The SUV door cracked open—

And a red laser dot flashed across Ariana’s chest.

“Get down!” Logan barked, grabbing her waist.

They hit the floor just as a shot rang out—shattering glass somewhere above them.

Ariana gasped, stunned. “Are you freaking serious right now?!”

But Logan didn’t answer.

His hand was already reaching behind his jacket.

For a gun she wasn’t supposed to know he had.

He drew the gun with practiced ease, eyes sharp and focused, scanning every possible vantage point. 

The SUV revved once, then tore off down the road, tires screeching into the silence it left behind. Logan pulled Ariana behind a marble pillar, checking her over without touching her. “Are you hurt?” 

he asked, voice tight, calm but lethal. She shook her head, breath ragged, heart pounding. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded. Logan didn’t answer. 

He didn’t need to. Because in that moment, the e

ncrypted comm-link in his pocket buzzed again.

> Abort mission. She’s not the target.

His blood ran cold. If Ariana wasn’t the target... then who was?