"How can you be so sure that he'd still be in London?" Joshua asked. My bodyguard. My best friend. The one person who had seen me at my worst and still chose to stay.
For the past three years, he'd been glued to my side, until now. He wasn't allowed to join me on this mission. Grandpa had forbidden it, and for once, I agreed with him. Fewer people involved meant fewer chances for things to go wrong. If someone had to take the risk, it had to be me.
"I have a hunch," I murmured, my eyes locked on the CCTV footage playing across the monitor.
There he was, Alexandre, moving through the crowd like he belonged there. Casual. Unbothered. Anonymous in the sea of tourists. Judging by the date stamped underneath the footage, this was filmed in the morning after Grandpa's party.
So this was where he went. He didn't even bother to stay the night. Not that I wanted him too, but still.
Josh exhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest as I rewound the clip for the third time, studying him. "I know you, Sol. You don't just chase people across countries because you have a 'hunch'. So what is it?"
I ignored him, replaying the footage again.
Frame by frame, I watched him. His posture. His stride. The subtle shift of his shoulders when he scanned his surroundings. I memorized the way he moved. Fluid and alert, careful. Every detail sinking into my instincts until I knew I could pick him out of a crowd if he ever tried to disappear on me again.
Josh let out another heavy sigh, softer this time. "Sol, look..." he began, his voice edged with something I rarely heard from him. Fear. "I have a bad feeling about this."
I paused the footage, the image freezing.
"Look, I have to do this," I bit out. "Whether you like it or not."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the walls of the private training area could betray us.
"You're going alone. No support. No backup. This guy is not just some ghost on a security feed. He's dangerous." His jaw tightened. "Let me talk to your grandfather, at least. I'll convince him to let me come with you."
My lips parted, but before I could respond, a soft knock clipped through the tension between us.
We both turned, as the door opened.
Dario stepped inside, composed as ever, his expression unreadable yet his dark eyes flicked between us with unmistakable purpose. "Am I interrupting?"
I straightened, shutting off the monitor. "No, you're not."
Josh muttered something under his breath, barely loud enough to catch, but the tension in his jaw said the rest.
"They told I'd find you here," Dario said as he stepped further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in his workout clothes. The navy shirt clinging to his muscular frame, dark training pants and damp hair pushed back like he had already been warming up. "Thought we could train together."
I glanced at Josh.
He held my gaze for a beat, concern flickering behind his brown eyes before he exhaled and nodded, resigned. "I'll join the others," he said, brushing past Dario as he left.
Dario purposely left the door open, walking over to my private training room.
Silence settled between us, thick and expectant as his gaze lingered on the doorway a moment longer, before turning back to me.
"It's unusual," he remarked as he stepped inside the sparring ring, arms folding over his chest in a stance that was far too casual to be innocent. "Seeing a woman of your station choosing to train privately with her male bodyguard."
I snatched my wraps from the bench, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "Don't start speculating," I said, keeping my tone cool and even. "If you're implying there's something between Josh and I, save it. There isn't."
One of his brows lifted, irritatingly smug. "It certainly looks that way on his side."
I shot him a flat look. "I assure you, there isn't."
I stepped through the ropes, the familiar sting of the mat settling under my feet as I squared myself inside the ring. "And besides," I said, lifting my gaze to his, "it's not like you and I are exclusive anyway."
Something flickered in his expression. Annoyance, maybe. Or amusement. Or the realization that he had just been challenged. It was all the same, with these men. They think they're all that.
He rolled his sleeves up as he moved toward the center with the ease of someone who had been doing this, his whole life. He slipped into his stance, weight balanced, eyes locked on mine.
"Perhaps," he said, settling lower into position, "we should rehash our terms on exclusivity."
I scoffed, but the sound caught in my throat when he took one deliberate step closer.
"Considering," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "we're about to be married and all."
I didn't give him the satisfaction of a pause.
I struck first.
A sharp jab aimed at his jaw. Clean and fast, meant to shut down whatever smug line he was preparing next. He blocked it effortlessly, palm catching my wrist with practiced ease.
"So eager to hit me already?" he drawled.
"I prefer action over useless conversation," I shot back, twisting out of his grip and circling him. "And we can discuss exclusivity after my mission. We've still got time."
He followed my movement, steps light, measured. "Time," he echoed, lips curling faintly. "That is, if you make it back in one piece. I heard he's a dangerous man."
I didn't rise to his bait. Instead, I feinted left then swung at a right hook. He dodged it by a breath. The air shifting between us.
"You're distracted," he taunted, sliding in with a low kick meant to test my guard rather than hurt me. "Thinking about your assignment...or someone in particular?"
I countered with a sharp elbow strike he barely blocked, causing our arms to clash.
"Keep talking," I said coolly, disengaging and resetting my stance, "and I'll make sure you leave this ring with a bruised ego."
He laughed. Quiet, dark and annoyingly confident when we began circling again.
"Good," he murmured. "I'd hate for our marriage to get boring."
Then he moved, fast.
But this time, I was ready when he lunged, just not ready enough. He swept my legs out from under me with brutal efficiency. Before I know it, my back hit the mat with a dull thud, the impact punching the air out of my lungs. Then he came down on me, his weight caging me in, pinning me beneath me before I could fully counter.
I instinctively fought back, but his weight was already settled over me. Solid, unyielding, a wall of muscle I couldn't push past.
His hand slid to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there with deliberate pressure. A warning and a claim. His chest brushed mine with every controlled breath he drew, as he gazed down at me, his breath warm against my cheek.
He dipped his head until his lips hovered a whisper from my ear.
"When you leave for your fucking mission," he murmured, voice low and heated, "you better stay faithful, cara. Or else."
His fingers tightened just enough to make my pulse jump. A shiver rippling through me, unwanted but undeniable. Infuriating. But I didn't let it linger, didn't even let him savor it.
In a burst of movement, I hooked my leg around his, shifted my hips and executed a clean jiu-jitsu sweep. His balance broke instantly, clean and precise, landing beside me with a low, surprised grunt.
He laughed, deep and unbothered, the sound vibrating with maddening amusement.
"Well played," he said, still catching his breath, eyes gleaming with heat and challenge.
I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my pulse thundered not just from the adrenaline of the fight, but from everything else simmering beneath it.
"Training's over," I muttered.
He didn't move. He simply stayed on the mat, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling, grinning like he was already imagining our next round. In this ring or somewhere...far less sanctioned.
His chuckle trailing after me as I walked out like he could already imagine it.