The CEO's BodyGuard

 Chapter 1: The Photo

The boardroom on the 47th floor of Apex Veil Tower overlooked Manhattan like a predator surveying its territory. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the glittering skyline, but Sebastian Mercer kept his back to it. He preferred the reflection in the polished mahogany table his own face staring back, sharp, unreadable.

At twenty-eight, he was the youngest CEO in the company's history. Inherited? No. He'd clawed his way here through a hostile acquisition that left blood on the carpet metaphorically, mostly. The older board members still called him "the boy wonder" behind closed doors. To his face, they smiled and nodded while waiting for him to slip.

Today, they were waiting for quarterly projections. Sebastian stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, laser pointer in hand. His voice cut through the room like code compiling clean, efficient.

"Q3 revenue up 18%. Client retention at 94%. The new quantum-resistant encryption suite launches next month, and we've already secured three federal contracts." He clicked to the next slide. "Any questions?"

Silence. Then Harlan Whitmore, sixty-seven, silver-haired, leaned forward. "Impressive numbers, Sebastian. But with the recent... whispers about data breaches in our sector, are we exposed?"

Sebastian's smile was a blade. "We're the ones who fix breaches, Harlan. Not cause them."

A soft buzz interrupted. His personal phone never on during meetings vibrated once against his thigh. He ignored it. Twice. On the third, irritation flickered. He slipped it from his pocket under the table.

A single notification. No sender. Just an image attachment.

He opened it.

The photo showed him in his penthouse gym at 3:17 a.m. last night. Shirtless, sweat-slicked, mid-pull-up on the bar mounted to the ceiling. Curtains drawn tight. No windows visible in the frame. The angle was low, intimate impossible from the street fifty stories below.

His pulse kicked hard, once, then steadied. He locked the screen, face blank.

"Meeting adjourned," he said, voice even. "We'll reconvene tomorrow."

The board exchanged glances. Harlan opened his mouth, but Sebastian was already moving toward the door.

In the corridor, he dialed his head of security. "My office. Now."

Five minutes later, Marcus Reed ex-NYPD, built like a linebacker stood sweating in front of Sebastian's desk.

"It's from inside your residence," Marcus said after Sebastian showed him the photo. "No forced entry on the logs. Cameras show nothing. Whoever took this had access physical or digital."

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Then find how."

Marcus hesitated. "Sir, with your profile... the board's already twitchy about liability. They want private detail. Immediate. Apex Veil can't afford a scandal."

Sebastian's jaw tightened. He hated being managed. Hated needing anyone. But the photo burned behind his eyes someone had been close enough to watch him sweat. Close enough to capture the scar on his left shoulder blade, the one he never talked about.

"Fine," he said. "Get the best. Discreet. No press leaks."

Marcus nodded and left.

Sebastian turned to the window. The city sprawled below, indifferent. He felt the weight of unseen eyes for the first time in years.

An hour later, the door opened without a knock.

Kane Maddox stepped in.

He was taller than Sebastian expected six-four, broad shoulders filling the doorway. Dark suit tailored to move in, not impress. Scars on his knuckles, faint line along his jaw. Hair cropped military-short, gray threading the temples. Thirty-eight, according to the file Marcus had forwarded. Ex-special forces. Private contractor. Perfect record.

Kane's eyes swept the room exits, windows, furniture placement before landing on Sebastian. Not admiration. Not fear. Assessment. Like he was cataloging weak points.

"Mr. Mercer." Voice low, gravel-rough. "Kane Maddox. Your new shadow."

Sebastian stood slowly. "I don't need a babysitter."

Kane didn't smile. "You need someone who sees what you don't." He stepped closer close enough that Sebastian caught the faint scent of leather and gun oil. "Starting with how that photo was taken from inside your locked penthouse."

Sebastian's spine stiffened. "You read the file."

"I read everything." Kane's gaze dropped to Sebastian's throat for a fraction of a second then back up. "Including the part where you sleep four hours a night and keep the curtains closed. Habits like that make you predictable."

Sebastian felt heat crawl up his neck. Not anger. Something sharper. Being seen truly seen without permission.

"I run a cybersecurity firm," he said coolly. "Predictability is a liability I control."

Kane tilted his head. "Then control this: someone got past your systems, your locks, your cameras. They watched you. Alone. Vulnerable." He took another step. Too close. Sebastian's space invaded.

Sebastian held his ground. "Back off."

Kane didn't. Instead, he reached out slow, deliberate and adjusted the knot of Sebastian's tie. Fingers brushed skin at the collar. Firm. Controlled. Not rough. Just enough pressure to remind who held the leverage in that moment.

Sebastian's breath caught betrayed by his own body.

Kane's eyes darkened. "You flinch when people touch you unexpectedly. Noted." He released the tie but didn't step back. "But you didn't flinch just now."

Sebastian swallowed. "Get out of my space."

Kane finally retreated one step. "My job is to be in your space, Mr. Mercer. Twenty-four seven. Until the threat is neutralized."

Sebastian stared at him. The man was a wall immovable, unreadable. But beneath the calm, something simmered. Not chaos. Control. The kind that waited.

"Then do it from a distance," Sebastian said.

Kane's mouth curved just a hint. "Distance gets people killed." He turned toward the door, paused. "I'll be outside. When you're ready to admit you need more than a bodyguard... I'll be here."

The door clicked shut.

Sebastian exhaled. His fingers went to the tie still warm from Kane's touch. He straightened it himself, but the sensation lingered.

He crossed to the window. Curtains open now. The city stared back.

For the first time in years, he felt watched.

And part of him small, dangerous didn't hate it.