Chapter 3 The New Bodyguard
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Elena found herself shifting slightly under Damian's gaze, though she couldn't explain why.
There was nothing inappropriate in the way he looked at her. In fact, there was almost a lack of expression altogether.
And yet, that unreadable focus unsettled her more than the hungry stares of the men who came before him.
He was... different.
"Mr. Cole," she said finally, her voice composed though much cooler than she intended, "I suppose you've been informed about the situation?"
"Yes," Damian replied. His tone was deep and even, the kind of voice that made you listen whether you wanted to or not. "I've reviewed the threats. Your security is... adequate. But inadequate for someone with your profile."
Her brows arched. "My profile?"
"Your father's daughter," he said simply.
The words landed heavier than she expected. Elena's lips pressed into a thin line. "So, you think I'm just a target because of him."
Damian's eyes flicked over her... not lasciviously, but as though assessing her weaknesses, cataloging every detail.
"That's not what I think, Miss Lancaster. That's what your enemies think. My job is to make sure their thoughts never become actions."
Elena tilted her head, trying to decide if she disliked him already or if she was intrigued. Maybe both. "And how do you plan to do that?"
"I'll stay close," Damian said. "Closer than anyone else. Where you go, I go. Every hour. Every step. Every breath."
Something in his voice made the hair on the back of her neck rise. It wasn't just a statement of duty... it sounded like a vow. Binding and final.
"Sounds suffocating," she muttered, turning away to descend the marble steps.
Damian followed her quietly, like a shadow that had learned to walk as a man.
Inside the estate, Elena led him through vast corridors lined with expensive art.
The Lancaster mansion was as grand as it was cold, every inch to perfection, but devoid of warmth.
Damian's gaze swept the halls, taking in security placements, camera blind spots, and potential exits without drawing attention to himself.
Elena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He moved like he belonged, yet didn't. It irritated her, though she wasn't sure why.
"Tell me, Mr. Cole," she said casually, "do you usually work for families like mine?"
Damian's jaw flexed slightly. "Families like yours don't usually survive long enough to hire me."
Her step faltered, and she glanced at him. "That's rather ominous."
He didn't elaborate. He was going to kill her sooner or later anyway.
Elena shook her head, half amused, half annoyed. "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?"
"I wasn't hired to converse," Damian said, his voice quiet but unyielding.
She stopped in front of a set of French doors leading to the sunroom and turned to face him fully. "And what if I don't like you?"
Damian's eyes locked on hers, calm and unflinching. "You don't have to like me, Miss Lancaster. You only have to trust me."
Elena blinked, her lips parting slightly. No one had ever spoken to her that way. Not like a fragile doll, not like a spoiled heiress, but like someone who could handle bluntness. It irritated her... and intrigued her all the same.
"Trust," she repeated softly, almost to herself. She gave a faint, ironic smile. "That's in short supply in this house."
For a second, something flickered in Damian's chest. Her words carried an honesty that resonated in a way he hadn't expected. But he forced the reaction down.
She was a Lancaster. A means to an end.
Nothing more.
The next few hours passed in a blur of introductions and formalities.
Victor Lancaster wasn't present. He was on a trip, his staff said, though Damian knew better. The man was likely locked away in one of his offices, plotting his next empire-crushing move.
Damian followed Elena quietly without a word.
At first, Elena ignored him, pretending he was just another bodyguard. But it was impossible to truly ignore Damian. He was too still and too intense. Like standing next to a storm you knew could break at any second.
She found herself sneaking glances at him. He was just too good-looking for a bodyguard.
It unnerved her, yet it fascinated her.
Finally, as they stepped into the garden terrace, she broke the silence.
"You've barely spoken all afternoon," she said lightly, though there was a sharper edge to her tone. "Are you always this... brooding?"
Damian's gaze swept the hedges before resting on her. "I don't brood. I calculate."
Elena gave a small, incredulous laugh. "That's the first almost-human thing you've said."
A corner of his mouth twitched... not quite a smile, but close enough to unsettle her further.
She turned away quickly, hiding the heat rising in her cheeks. What was wrong with her? He was just another bodyguard. Another wall her father had built around her.
And yet, something about him felt different.
He felt more... Safer. And far more dangerous at the same time.
That night, when Elena retired to her room, she found herself lingering by the balcony, staring at the gardens below. Somewhere out there, she knew he was standing guard. Watching... Waiting.
She didn't know why, but for the first time in years, she felt the oddest sense of safety. Not because of the walls, or the guards, or her father's power. But because of him.
Damian, however, stood in the shadows near the gate, his hands folded behind his back, and his expression unreadable. His gaze was fixed on the mansion, but his mind was elsewhere.
Elena's laughter from the photograph. The defiance in her eyes when she questioned him. The honesty in her voice when she admitted trust was scarce in her home.
It gnawed at him.
She wasn't supposed to matter.
He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself back into control. He had waited fifteen years for this moment. His father's blood, his sister's screams, his mother's vacant stare... all of it had led to this.
Elena Lancaster was the key. Through her, Victor would suffer and eventually die at his hands.
And Damian would not fail.
