Chapter 39 The Bodyguard
ALISTAIR
I realized in the past few days that taking Emily from this fortress would mean handing my enemies a map straight to my throat. I stare at my father, keeping my hands deep in my trouser pockets, my posture completely rigid against the mantle.
His silvering hair is disheveled, a rare sight for a man who spends thousands on his appearance. He wants an easy out. He thinks that removing Emily would remove the drama, but it won’t.
"Moving out isn’t an option," I repeat, my tone cutting through his rising anger like a pair of shears. I look over at Emily. She looks small, almost fragile, but her eyes are wide and completely focused on us.
"If we leave this estate, she becomes my Achilles’ heel. My rivals watch every move I make. Outside these reinforced gates, she’s an easy target. If those schemers get their hands on her, they don’t just get a hostage. They get a nuclear weapon to deploy against me and the entire Wolfe name."
My father’s jaw tightens. He looks at Emily, his gaze lingering on the slight curve of her stomach beneath the thick knit sweater. The future of our line rests right there. The weight of the Wolfe legacy is the only thing he values more than his own comfort. He lets out a long, ragged sigh that deflates the aggressive set of his shoulders.
"You’re right about the security perimeter," my father mutters, rubbing a spot between his eyebrows where a faint line of sweat has broken out. He turns toward the grand double doors, his leather shoes making a heavy, tired sound against the wood. "We’ll keep her here for now. But everyone in this house needs to exercise some serious patience until that baby is born. After that, we’ll re-evaluate." He doesn’t look back as he exits, his tall silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
A sharp vibration grates against my thigh. I pull my phone from my pocket and look at the flashing screen. It’s an international number from the London office. I press the side button to silence the ringer, already anticipating the corporate mess waiting for me. I need to clear my head, and I need to deal with the fallout from the docks.
Leo stands by the doorway, his massive frame nearly blocking the exit to the hall. His square jaw is set, his eyes alert. I catch his gaze and gesture toward the armchair where Emily is sitting. "Leo. From this second on, you don’t look at the perimeter gates. You don’t manage the staff. You are Emily’s personal bodyguard. You follow her shadow everywhere she goes."
Leo nods once, his thick neck remaining perfectly rigid.
"Understood, boss. She won’t leave my sight."
I turn to leave, stepping over the glittering shards of broken porcelain Beatrice left on the floor. As I pull open the front doors, the cool night air hits my face, smelling of damp earth and recent rain. I move to the car and get in.
"Alistair!"
A sharp voice cuts through the sound of the engine. I turn around. Emily is jogging down the marble steps, the oversized sweater flapping around her leggings. She’s panting, her breath turning into a pale mist in the freezing air. She stops a foot away from me, her dark eyes pinning me to the spot.
"Did you really trace Daniel’s phone number?" she asks, her voice raspy but clear. "Did you actually get those registration logs from the provider?"
I look down at her, a genuine sense of surprise cooling my anger. She’s sharper than I gave her credit for. Most people in that room were too busy screaming, slapping, or crying to think logically, but her brain was actively dissecting the data.
"What makes you think I didn’t?" I ask, keeping my face a completely blank sheet of ice.
Emily lets out a small, dry laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Those kidnappers were professionals. Leo told me they used three layers of middlemen to hide their tracks during the phone calls. If they took that much precaution on a live call, they wouldn’t leave a blatant registration trail on the text messages. It doesn’t make sense. Plus, your face when you looked at my phone wasn’t just angry. You looked frustrated, like you were looking at a ghost you couldn’t catch. You bluffed, Alistair. You used Daniel’s name because you knew Beatrice was already on the verge of cracking. You baited her."
A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. It’s a rare movement, a loosening of the tight muscles in my jaw. She has a terrifyingly efficient mind. She isn’t like the typical social climbers my family deals with; she doesn’t just want a check. She wants her independence, her career, and she uses her intellect to get it.
"You’re too smart for your own good, Emily," I say, turning to pull the car door open. "Get back inside. It’s freezing out here." I don’t wait for her reply before sliding into the leather seat and shutting the door, leaving her standing on the wet gravel as the car moves forward.
EMILY
The red taillights of Alistair’s SUV disappear down the winding driveway, leaving me alone on the stone porch with the smell of wet earth and cold rain. I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to trap the remaining warmth of my sweater. He didn’t deny it. He just smiled that rare, sharp smile and left me in the dark. It’s infuriating how much he keeps hidden behind that stony exterior, but it also proves he isn’t just brute force. He’s a chess player. If I want to secure my medical career and get my cardiology formula licensed, I have to learn to play at his level. I can’t let the Vance family or the Wolfe elders treat me like a piece to be moved across the board.
"Mrs. Wolfe."
Leo steps out from the shadow of the massive stone pillars. His hair is cropped so close to his scalp that his skin shows through, and his posture is completely unyielding. He reaches into his jacket and extends a crisp, matte black business card toward me.
I take the card, the paper stiff and cool against my fingertips. It simply reads *Leo - Security* followed by a direct mobile number. "You’re my bodyguard now."
"I am," Leo says. He stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped firmly in front of his belt. He doesn’t blink.
I look at his thick neck and broad shoulders. If I’m going to be trapped in this golden cage, I need to know exactly what kind of shields I have. Beatrice might be locked away for a week, but she has deep connections, and my stepmother, Lydia, isn’t going to stop trying to ruin me either.
"What exactly can you do, Leo? If someone tries to grab me again, what’s your qualification?"
A tiny grin touches his lips, vanishing so quickly I almost miss it. "I’m a national kickboxing champion, Ma’am. Before Mr. Wolfe Alistair hired me for the estate, I spent five years in the Special Forces. Specialized combat training, counter-terrorism, and close-quarters protection."
I stare at the card, a sudden wave of pure, smug satisfaction washing over me. I’ve been running through freezing lake water and hiding under scratchy blankets while a literal human weapon was standing by the front door this entire time.
I’ve struck gold.
"Can you teach me?" I ask, stepping closer, the exhaustion from the lake rescue briefly forgotten. "Just a few moves. Enough to break a jaw or drop a man if he gets within arm’s reach. I want to be able to protect myself without relying on Alistair’s gun every time things go wrong."
Leo clears his throat, his gaze moving toward the dark driveway before returning to my face. "I need the boss’s permission for that, Mrs. Wolfe. My orders are to protect you, not to train you. If Mr. Wolfe signs off on it, we can start in the morning."
I let out a soft sigh but decide not to push it. Alistair’s word is law among the staff, and I don’t want to get my brand-new bodyguard into trouble on his first hour. "Fine. I’ll ask him the second he gets back."
I turn and walk back into the mansion. The foyer is completely empty now, the servants having swept away the broken porcelain and the stained rug. I climb the stairs, my leggings dragging against my skin, my body finally demanding the rest I’ve been delaying.
When I enter the bedroom, the scent of Alistair’s clean, sharp cologne still hangs in the air near the bedside table. I look at the clock on the wall. The hands point to 11:15 PM. It’s been a really long day.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, determined to stay awake. I need that training permission, and I want to know where he went. But the quiet luxury of the room starts working against me. The bed is soft, a stark contrast to the rigid, abusive household I grew up in with Thomas and Lydia Vance. I am changing. I can feel it. I am no longer the terrified girl they could sell to the highest bidder. I have power now, even if it’s tied to a contract.
As the minutes crawl by, my eyelids grow impossibly heavy. My shoulders slump, and my chin drops toward my chest. I shake my head, my eyes blinking open as I force myself to look at the clock again. 12:35 AM.
I’m about to crash straight onto the pillows. I groan, forcing my protesting muscles to move as I stand up and walk into the bathroom. I turn the brass handle of the tap, waiting until the water runs freezing cold. I cup my hands and hurl the ice-cold water directly onto my face.
The shock is a physical slap to my system. My skin stings, and a sharp gasp breaks from my lips as the cold hits my nerves. I grab a dry towel, rubbing my face until it glows pink, my eyes completely alert now.
I walk back into the dark bedroom, and a deep roaring sound shatters the quiet of the night outside. It’s the unmistakable sound of a heavy car engine, growing louder as it tears up the winding driveway.
A sudden jolt of adrenaline clears away the last of my drowsiness. I run across the room, my bare feet making no sound on the carpet, and fling open the glass doors to the balcony. The biting wind hits my face as I lunge toward the iron railing, leaning over to look down into the driveway below.