Page 29 of The Bodyguard

Her temper flared, sharp and fast. “No one has taken a shot at me…”

“Yet.”

Andi sighed. “So now I don’t get to talk to my own team?”

“Not when your team might include the leak.”

“I know these people.”

“You think you do,” he snapped, “but someone among them has eyes on your bedroom, your balcony, and your private calendar. You know nothing anymore.”

“You think that justifies total control over my life?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “I think when someone’s marked you as a target and proven they have real-time access to your locations, your team, your fucking bedroom window, control stops being optional.”

She looked away, arms folded tight across her chest.

“You think I enjoy this?” she asked.

Mitch didn’t answer.

She turned back. “You think I enjoy being followed, managed, caged in my own home, treated like a glass doll who has to ask permission to move?”

“No,” he said. “I think you’re terrified to admit how much easier it is when you’re not the one in charge.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”

“You didn’t flinch when I took over logistics. You didn’t push back when I pulled you from the Alder Club. You obeyed in that alley like it was instinct.”

“That wasn’t obedience. That was survival.”

“And this isn’t?” he shot back. “You’re trying to carve out loopholes in a situation where loopholes will get you killed.” His voice dropped lower. Controlled fury. “You’re smart, Andi. But you’re not trained for this. Stop pretending you know how to navigate threats you can’t even see.”

“And what—you’re the only one allowed to know?” she snapped. “You decide where I go, who I see, what I say to my staff? You want me silent and compliant?”

“I want you alive.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead, biting back a scream. “You think this is easy for me? Mitch, I’ve fought for every inch of credibility I’ve got. Every donor, every speech, every damn headline. I have spent my entire life clawing my way out of the stereotype. If I show weakness…”

“You think trusting someone is weak?”

She faltered. “I think giving up control is dangerous.”

“No,” Mitch said. “Control is what you use to survive. But trust? That’s what keeps you sane.”

Andi swallowed hard, throat tight. Her voice dropped. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Yes, you do,” he said quietly. “You just don’t want to admit that you already have.”

Their eyes met. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was right, and that terrified her more than anything else.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

Back at the loft, she rode up in the elevator with him in silence and went straight to the master bathroom. She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t need to… the lock clicked softly into place.

She turned on the shower and leaned back against the wall, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her skin looked pale. Her eyes were too wide. Her posture was too straight. She looked like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff with nothing left but pride.

The water steamed the mirror, obscuring the worst of it. She stripped out of her clothes slowly, letting each layer fall to the tile floor. She stepped under the spray and tilted her head back until the water flooded her ears and shut the world out.

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