Page 27 of The Bodyguard

“You wouldn’t be giving in,” Mitch said. “You’d be choosing to allow someone else to care for you enough to relieve you of that burden.”

The words landed hard, almost harder than the kiss from the night before.

Andi shook her head and took a step back. “I don’t know how to choose that and survive in the world I live in.”

“You wouldn’t be alone in either the choice or your world. D/s is a way couples can connect sexually and emotionally and then carry that intimacy out into the world.”

She turned away, trying to shove the desire back down into the place she kept her regrets. It didn’t fit. It never would. The worst part was that the desire for it was starting to feel like more than just a fantasy. It felt like a choice she was going to have to make… and soon.

Before she could answer, before she could find the right words or the breath to speak them, the loft’s security panel chimed.

Mitch was across the room in a heartbeat, checking the feed. A uniformed courier stood outside the building’s front entrance, holding a standard white envelope with a red stripe across the seal.

Andi’s stomach dropped.

He glanced back at her. “Stay there.”

She didn’t argue this time. Mitch keyed in the code to unlock the building’s front entrance and met the courier at the door. Andi watched from a distance, wrapping her arms tighter around herself as the envelope was passed over with a nod and nothing else. No ID check. No signature request.

When he returned, his face was unreadable, but his jaw was tight.

He handed her the envelope. It was thicker than the others. Heavier. Not just a letter.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled back the seal. Inside were three more photographs. High-resolution. Black and white. One was of her sitting at her desk at campaign headquarters—alone, typing. Another of her standing on her loft balcony, mug in hand, staring at the lake. And the third… the third was from earlier that morning, taken through the glass of her bedroom window. In the picture she was asleep, her hair spread across the pillow, the sheet tangled at her waist—completely, terrifyingly unaware.

A low gasp escaped her throat. Mitch took the photos gently from her hands, inspecting them with practiced eyes.

“High-angle shot,” he said. “Possibly from a drone. “But the reflection on this one shows it was taken from inside the building,” he said, pointing to the campaign photo.

Her breath caught. “Someone on my staff?”

“Or someone who had access.”

Andi sat heavily on the edge of the couch, unable to stop staring at the envelope.

“Why now?” she whispered. “Why show me this now?”

“Because they want you afraid,” Mitch said. “They want you to feel like you’re never alone. Like they’re always watching.”

And in that moment, she felt exactly that. She felt every inch of it—the knowing, the violation, and something else. Something darker. The urge to reclaim the pieces of herself being stripped away one threat, one photograph, one unanswered question at a time.

To take back control, but not the way she always had. Not with walls. Not with distance. Not with sharp words and sharper smiles, but with surrender—not to the danger, not to fear, but to him.

To the one man who didn’t flinch when she snapped, didn’t run when she pushed, didn’t treat her power like something to fear—but something to protect.

She looked up at Mitch. He was watching her, silent and steady, like he already knew what she was about to do… or say… or break.

The war in her chest roared louder. And this time, she didn’t know if she had the strength to keep fighting it.

Her phone buzzed once. Then again. She didn’t look. Mitch did.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, already moving.

She reached for the phone, heart pounding. New message. No name. No number.

He’s closer than you think.

Andi didn’t move at first. The message still glowed on her phone screen, sharp and taunting. The words pressed in on her chest like a slow vice, and across the loft, Mitch stood near the kitchen, already in motion—already hunting shadows.

---