เข้าสู่ระบบMy life changed the night someone tried to kidnap me. As the only daughter of billionaire Victor Sterling, I’ve spent my whole life trapped behind wealth, security, and impossible expectations. After the attack, my father hires Ethan Knight a cold, mysterious former Special Forces soldier to become my bodyguard. We clash from the moment we meet. He’s infuriatingly overprotective, impossible to read, and determined to keep me at a distance. Then he takes a bullet meant for me. Behind Ethan’s icy mask lies a dangerous secret one that could destroy everything I thought I knew about my family… and his. Falling in love with my bodyguard was never part of the plan. But the people hunting me aren’t the only threat. The man sworn to protect me may also be the one destined to break my heart.
ดูเพิ่มเติม“They’re here.”
The whisper came from behind me. I turned sharply, expecting to see one of the waiters or perhaps one of my father’s business partners trying to get my attention. Instead, I found Marcus. The man who had guarded my family for over twenty years never panicked, yet tonight, every muscle in his body was tense. His sharp eyes scanned every corner of the grand ballroom as though searching for something only he could see. A chill crept down my spine something was wrong Very wrong. “Lillian.” Marcus spoke quietly, his voice unusually firm. “We have to leave.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” Before he could answer, the lights went out and darkness swallowed the ballroom,for one terrifying second, complete silence filled the room. Then chaos exploded, women screamed, glasses shattered against the marble floor someone slammed into me so hard that my champagne slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Guests pushed past one another in panic while children cried and the orchestra fell silent. The elegant ballroom that had been glowing beneath crystal chandeliers only moments earlier was transformed into a nightmare. Expensive flower arrangements were knocked over as frightened guests trampled across the polished marble floor. Waiters abandoned silver trays filled with champagne while politicians, celebrities, and wealthy business owners rushed desperately toward the exits. It was supposed to be another perfect celebration of Victor Sterling’s latest business success, instead, people were running for their lives. Outside…Bang! A gunshot shattered the night, then another. Bang! Bang! My heart nearly stopped, those weren’t fireworks, they were bullets. Marcus grabbed my wrist so tightly it almost hurt, “Miss Sterling.” His voice remained calm, but I could hear the urgency beneath it. “We’re leaving. Now.” He pulled me through the terrified crowd. “Marcus!” I struggled to keep up. “Tell me what’s happening“No time.” He responded “But my father—” “Mr. Sterling is protected.” His answer did little to calm me. I looked around desperately, searching for my father. The ballroom had become a sea of frightened faces. People shoved one another without looking back. Someone stumbled to the floor, only to be stepped over by others trying to escape, fear had turned everyone into strangers. “Lillian!” My father’s voice echoed from somewhere across the room, i turned just in time to see him standing near the stage, surrounded by several armed guards. Our eyes met for only a second. Relief flashed across his face when he saw Marcus beside me, then one of the guards hurried him toward another exit, that was the last time I saw him that night. Marcus pulled me into a narrow hallway away from the terrified crowd. The screams became distant, replaced only by the sound of our hurried footsteps echoing against the polished floor. “What is going on?” I asked again Marcus finally looked at me. “Someone breached the estate.” “What?” “They’re armed.” A chill ran down my spine. “Our security system should have stopped them.” “It didn’t.” “How many?” “We don’t know.” The answer frightened me even more, Marcus knew everything, if he didn’t know how many people had entered the estate… Then the situation was far worse than I imagined. We reached the end of the hallway. Marcus stopped in front of what looked like an ordinary wooden wall. He pressed his thumb against a hidden scanner, a soft beep sounded part of the wall slowly slid open, revealing a narrow secret passage, I stared at him.“We have secret tunnels?” “We have many things you don’t know about.” “My father never told me.” “He didn’t want you to know.” Marcus stepped aside. “Go.” I looked into the dark tunnel. It was narrow, cold, and completely silent. “I’m not leaving without my father.” “He’s already being moved to another safe location.” Then I’ll go with him.“You can’t.” “Why not?” Before Marcus could answer, slow footsteps echoed behind us, it was confident and steady not the frantic footsteps of frightened guests… but the footsteps of men who knew exactly where they were going. Marcus’s expression hardened, in one smooth movement, he drew his gun and stepped in front of me.“Stay behind me,” he ordered. Three masked men appeared at the other end of the hallway, all dressed in black, each carrying a weapon, then one of them looked directly at me. “We’ve found her.” Another raised his rifle. “Take the girl alive.” My blood turned cold, they weren’t looking for money, they weren’t looking for my father, they had come…For me. Marcus fired first. Bang! One of the kidnappers staggered backward before quickly regaining his balance, the other two kept advancing “Run, Miss Sterling!” Marcus shouted, the lead kidnapper lunged forward and shoved me toward the waiting SUV outside. “Get her inside!” he barked, before he could force me into the vehicle… A dark figure dropped from the roof of the SUV. Everything happened in seconds, one punch, one kick, one man slammed into the side of the vehicle, another crashed onto the ground with a painful groan. The third kidnapper stumbled backward and raised his gun, my heart stopped. “Look out!” I screamed, the stranger turned toward me. Bang! The bullet struck his side blood spread across his white shirt even after being shot, he refused to fall, he pulled a knife from beneath his jacket and threw it with incredible speed, the blade buried itself in the gunman’s shoulder. The kidnapper screamed as his weapon slipped from his hand. At that moment, security guards rushed into the garden from every direction. “Protect Miss Sterling!” The kidnappers disappeared into the darkness before they could be caught the stranger swayed where he stood i ran toward him and caught him before he collapsed. “Please… stay with me.”His eyes met mine they were filled with pain…But also relief, for a long moment, he studied my face before whispering, “They finally found you, Lillian.” My breath caught. How did he know my name? Before I could ask another question, his eyes closed and his body went limp in my arms.Richard passed away peacefully in his sleep three months after sitting for the family portrait, the news arriving with a grief this family had learned, through considerable practice, to hold alongside genuine gratitude for a life properly, completely lived.I found myself thinking, in the days following, about everything Richard had ultimately come to represent within this family’s story — the frightened man who’d nearly died in a warehouse, who’d faced Colette directly with such profound courage, who’d spent his final decades slowly, carefully teaching all of us the difficult art of holding grief and forgiveness together without demanding either erase the other.“I keep thinking about that first conversation,” Colette admitted to me, tears falling freely as we processed this significant loss together. “When he told me manipulation always finds a way to soften the moment, that real accountability sits in the discomfort without flinching away.” “He taught this entire family something p
I began a new painting the week after Eleanor Sarah’s wedding, something different from the smaller, individual pieces I’d grown accustomed to over the years — this one considerably larger, ambitious in scope, an idea that had been quietly forming ever since watching Ethan in his workshop that evening, surrounded by decades of his own patient work.“I want to paint everyone,” I told him, spreading a large blank canvas across the greenhouse floor, the biggest I’d ever attempted. “The whole family. Everyone who’s part of this now.” “That’s considerable,” Ethan said, studying the canvas’s scale with visible admiration. “How many people are we talking about?” I began listing them aloud, counting on my fingers as the number grew steadily larger. “Us, Eleanor Sarah and David, Marianne. Marcus, Elena, and their five. Reyes, James, and their two. Colette, Thomas, and their two. Daniel, Samuel. Josephine, when she’s able. Richard.” I paused, genuinely startled by the total. “That’s nearly thir
Eleanor Sarah married David the following autumn — a lovely, simple ceremony in the garden, David proving himself exactly as steady and kind as we’d hoped he would be, the whole extended family gathering once more to celebrate. I won’t dwell on the details of the day itself; it was beautiful, and Ethan cried giving her away, and by the time the string lights came on she was someone’s wife as much as she was still our daughter. That’s her own complete story now, hers to carry forward.What stayed with me more, in the weeks following, was something quieter — watching Ethan afterward, standing alone in his workshop long after the celebration had wound down, sawdust settling in the evening light like snow that never quite finished falling.“You’re not out here working,” I observed, joining him. He wasn’t touching any tools, simply standing among the accumulated pieces of a life — cribs, tables, small carved animals, decades of patient craftsmanship lining every shelf. “Just thinking,” he
Marianne’s growing curiosity about her family’s history continued unfolding gradually over the following months, her questions arriving with increasing sophistication as she approached her eleventh birthday, understanding more with each passing conversation, though we remained careful, as we always had with Eleanor Sarah before her, to let her comprehension guide the pace rather than overwhelming her prematurely.“Mom,” she asked one evening, settling beside me in the greenhouse where I still painted regularly, “did you ever think Dad wouldn’t survive? Back when he was your bodyguard?”I considered the question carefully, understanding its weight despite her casual delivery. “Yes,” I admitted honestly. “There was a night, very early in our story, when he was shot protecting me. I genuinely believed, for a few terrifying hours, that I might lose him before we’d even had the chance to properly know each other.” “That must have been so scary,” Marianne said softly. “It was,” I confirmed.


















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