The gates swung wide for the convoy, as if greeting true royalty. And in a way, they were.
The black SUV, gleaming like obsidian, bulletproof, moved through the wrought iron gates of Kingsmeadow University, under the pale morning sun. This was the most elite, expensive private school in Britain. The sons of diplomats came here. So do the daughters of oil tycoons. Here, heirs to hidden empires sharpened their skills for the world.
The entire school rarely stopped to stare. But today was different.
Every head swiveled. Sentences died. Phones appeared like magic. Whispers spread like smoke and scandal.
She'd made an entrance.
Inside the SUV, Anastasia Volkova tilted her head, her eyes shielded by huge black Dior sunglasses. Legs crossed just so. She had the casual grace of a girl born to power.
The silence inside was a thing you could touch. Her playlist played low, bass throbbing, voice a caress.
"You don't need to open the door," she said, cool as ice. She did not even look at the man next to the driver.
He paused.
Then, his tone even, too controlled, he said, "Too bad. It's my job."
Aleksandr Vane.
Her father's final controlling act: placing him at her side before shipping her off to school.
God help her. He looked like sin incarnate.
His voice alone could halt a room. Deep and lethal. The accent British, but with a ghost of Russian hiding beneath. It could make hearts race. Weakened knees were his specialty.
She hated how aware she was.
He was out first. The SUV stopped before the grand arched hall entrance. His boots hit stone, and the courtyard went silent.
Heads turned fast. Girls blinked hard. One actually gasped.
In a matte-black suit, tailored to show off every inch, buttoned once. A black dress shirt beneath, no tie. He looked like a villain ripped from a luxury cologne ad. Only worse, because he was real. So tall. All muscle. A sharply defined jaw shadowed by stubble. Veins popped on his hands as he circled the car like he owned the earth.
Then…
He opened her door.
Anastasia stepped out like she owned the world.
Leg first. Then heels. Hips. Then the face.
Hair the color of glaciers, pulled into a low, smooth ponytail that nearly touched her waist. Skin like porcelain. Lips a vibrant red. White Prada sunglasses perched on her nose.
She didn't smile.
She didn't need to smile.
She was the kind of woman who knew she was the moment even before she arrived.
Aleksandr stood behind her, a shadow built for war. One step back. Always watching. Always silent. His hand hung near her waist, close enough to act. But far enough to stay professional.
"Stop hovering," she murmured, not turning back.
"It's what I get paid for," he replied. His tone was flat.
She turned her head, eyes narrowed. "You're supposed to protect me, not babysit."
He didn't blink. "For you, those are the same thing."
They moved through the ancient halls like an oncoming storm. Her heels clicked on the marble, a warning. Girls stared hard. Boys watched close. Staff whispered behind their hands.
No one asked a thing. They simply moved out of their way.
Her dorm was in the royal west wing, renovated into private suites for families with endless money. Of course.
She refused help with her bags. Aleksandr ignored her and carried them anyway.
"Put them down. I'm not helpless," she snapped. She stomped ahead in her fitted white blazer with a matching skirt.
"You are very skilled at making enemies, I will give you that," he said. He entered the suite after her.
She turned, lips parted. Fury was coming. "I don't like you."
"That's healthy." He set down her suitcase. "I don't work for your approval."
He straightened. For a split second, their eyes met. Blue and gray. Fire and frost.
She hated that he didn't flinch. Didn't pause. Like he could see through her designer clothes, bored eyes, and daddy's little tantrums.
She hated even more that her stomach flipped when he did that.
LATER THAT NIGHT
The suite was still. The distant city hum was a lullaby. Her bedroom was swathed in champagne velvet and gold. Too opulent, even for her.
She stood before the mirror, brushing platinum hair with slow, steady strokes. In the reflection, the door opened. Just a crack.
"Lights off in fifteen. I'll be right outside your door all night," Aleksandr said.
"That's unnecessary," she replied. Her voice was softer now.
"It's happening either way."
He turned to leave. Then he paused.
"Anastasia."
She looked up, startled to hear him speak her name.
"I don't care about the cameras your father installed, or the guards on his payroll. You're only safe because I am here." He didn't wait for a reply. "So stop fighting me. I'm not your enemy."
The door clicked shut.
She stared at the closed door for a long time.
And for the first time in what felt like forever…
She wasn't in control.
Anastasia couldn't fall asleep. Not a wink.
She lay across the huge bed. Staring at the fancy ceiling as if it held the answers to questions she wasn't ready to have. The sheets smelled like lavender. They reeked of wealth. Her phone buzzed once, a tiny vibration.
Lila, her assigned roommate, the annoying British girl from orientation had asked her to come to a welcome party up on the lawn.
She had no interest.
None whatsoever.
Still... the thought of being stuck inside while Aleksandr sat right outside her door like a grumpy statue didn't sit well.
She got up. She walked barefoot to the closet, pulling out something pretty casual: a silk emerald-green dress that flowed over her thighs, holding her waist like another skin. No bra. No excuses.
If she was going to enter this world, she would do it her own way. It was time.
---
He stood up as soon as she opened the door. Really straight.
Aleksandr leaned against the wall. One hand tucked in his jacket. The other held a small black earpiece.
His eyes went over her. A cool once-over.
"Not staying in?" he asked, his voice low.
She leaned against the doorframe. Arms crossed, casually. "Plans changed."
"Where to?"
"Up on the lawn. A student party. Relax. I'll be fine."
He didn't reply to that. Nothing.
She raised an eyebrow high. "That was me telling you, not asking you by the way."
Aleksandr didn't even blink, stone faced. "That was me ignoring your silliness."
"Do you love being annoying or is it natural?"
He took a step closer. Just a bit. Not much. Just enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him.
"It's adorable you think your sarcasm works on me."
Then he smirked.
Just a bit. Hardly there. But it was there.
Her breath hitched. Damn him to hell.
"Fine then. Follow me, watchdog."
She walked off, barefoot heels in hand, green dress flowing.
---
UPPER LAWN - 11:03 PM
The party was pure polished chaos. Perfect madness.
Tents lined with lights. Music thumped from speakers. The scent of gin, cologne, rich rebellion filled the air. Girls in silk with boys in blazers laughed falsely around fire pits. Every single one of them stopped to watch when Anastasia showed up.
More so when they saw the man following. Close, deliberate.
"Who's that?" Someone whispered nearby, curious.
"That's Anastasia Volkova. Russian oil money. No one's gotten close to her since she got here."
"Is the guy behind her a model? Or a murderer?"
Both, she thought, dry.
She acted like she didn't see them staring.
She couldn't pretend to miss Theo Hartwell. He lounged at the bar. He was the school's golden boy. Handsome. Entitled. Wore charm like it was another skin.
He noticed her, for sure.
He came to her.
"Miss Volkova," he said smoothly. Offering a glass. "Welcome to Kingsmeadow. I'll be the first to-"
"She doesn't drink with people she does not know," Aleksandr said, flat, sharp.
Theo blinked. Surprised. "And who might you be?"
"The reason you still have all your teeth," Aleksandr said back.
Anastasia held back a smile behind the rim of the untouched glass.
Theo laughed. He laughed awkwardly. "I see. Personal security?"
Aleksandr said nothing at all.
"Well, Anastasia," Theo said, eyes flicking over her again. "If you ever tire of the help, I'd love to show you around without the leash."
She didn't even flinch.
Aleksandr, though, did.
His hand went to the small of her back. Subtle. Like he was telling everyone. Including her. Where she stood.
She tensed up. Not because she didn't like it.
Because she did like it.
She hated that fact.
---
Back in her room, she was silent. She kicked off her heels at the door. She walked barefoot to the center.
"You're crazy," she muttered.
"You too," Aleksandr said. He locked the door behind them.
"You embarrassed me."
"No," he said, voice low. "I kept you safe. It is different. You just don't get it."
She turned to him, eyes flashing hot. "You think I'm a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything."
"No," he said, stepping closer in her space. "I think you're dangerous. You act like nothing gets to you."
She swallowed hard.
"What makes you immune to me?" she whispered, daring him.
His jaw tightened.
Then… silence filled the space.
They were close. Too close for comfort. Her perfume circled him like a drug. His stare was a weapon. Her stare was an offer.
Something changed in the air.
He reached for the door, ending it.
"Goodnight, Anastasia."
Her voice stopped him before he could go. Soft. Uncertain.
"Do you ever want something you cannot have?"
He stopped. His hand on the handle.
"I do," he said.
Then he opened the door. He stepped out. Closed it gently.
She stared at the door for a long time.
Again.
She was not confused about the feeling in her chest.