-Treasure.
They gathered us in what looked like a converted conference room. The walls were too bare to feel lived in, but there were polished floor tiles, long windows shut with sleek black blinds, and a wide table that could seat twelve, though only eight chairs were filled. It was cold in there. Not from the temperature, but from the silence that settled before anyone spoke—like the room had its own tension, waiting for someone to earn the right to break it.
Mark was already standing at the front when we entered. He didn't sit. He had a tablet tucked under his arm, one foot angled forward like he was posing for a catalog titled Executive Calm. Elias wasn't there. This wasn't about him, not directly. This was the structure. The briefing. The rules. The walls being built between all of us before anything even started.
Devon walked in ahead of me and sat to my right. Michael and Sandro were across from us. The others—four men I didn't recognize—were already seated. Suits, sharp cuts, pressed collars. They looked like they'd been there a while. One of them didn't even bother looking up when we came in. He was scrolling through something on his phone, thumb gliding slow and steady like we were beneath his notice.
Mark started speaking as soon as the door shut.
"Alright, everyone. This is the official internal structuring for the private security detail moving forward. Some of you already know the estate, some of you are new. Doesn't matter. What matters is how we're going to work together starting now."
He tapped the tablet. A screen flickered on behind him—a sleek wall-mounted display, all grayscale floor plans and security overlays. I only glanced at it. My focus was on the men sitting across from me.
Mark continued, "We're not changing the core. We're expanding it. Everyone's being assigned sectors. Movement schedules. Soft and hard presence. We'll run overlap rotations for the first week and adjust as needed."
He started listing names and roles. Devon's was called. Perimeter sweep and digital integration. That tracked. Devon had already mapped the entire place inside his own head. Michael was handling lateral mobility and entrance oversight. Sandro was on comms. Nothing surprising so far.
I waited. Quiet. Still.
Then—
"Treasure Quinn."
I looked up.
Mark nodded toward me. "You'll remain primary escort for Elias, as previously assigned."
There was a shift in the room. Small. Subtle. Like someone had exhaled a little too loudly. The man with the phone finally looked up. His eyes passed over me once, unreadable, before he leaned back in his chair and stretched slightly, his shoulder bumping the guy beside him.
No one said anything, but I felt it.
It was already there. The unspoken split. They were the original team. We were the additions.
Mark moved on, running through protocols, handoff points, surveillance syncs, code triggers. I caught maybe half of it. The rest blurred behind the weight of what I felt settling in my chest. That kind of tightness you get when you realize you're being watched—not for your skill, but to see if you'll mess up. If you'll fold. If you'll embarrass yourself.
There was no welcome. No introductions. Just hierarchy, already etched into the table like old carvings.
The guy with the phone—the one with the bleached hair and smug posture—smirked at something Mark said and whispered something to the man beside him. They both chuckled under their breath, low and sharp.
Devon shifted beside me, arms folded. He didn't look at them. He didn't need to.
The meeting dragged on for another thirty minutes. Schedules, contingency maps, backup units. At some point, I stared at the screen long enough for my vision to blur. I didn't want to write anything down. I didn't want to give them more reasons to think I was the kind that needed reminders.
When it was finally over, no one clapped. No one thanked Mark. The room emptied the way water drains out of a tub—fast and without lingering. Everyone left in pairs. I didn't speak. Devon walked beside me, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps. That was the only thing that kept me from snapping.
Because I wasn't stupid.
They didn't like that I was given the closest spot to Elias. They didn't like that I got handed the key role without proving myself to them first. And I didn't like that I gave a single fuck about any of it.
But still—I did.
By the time everything calmed down, it was already dinner. The light outside had dimmed, and the long glass windows of the hallway reflected a quiet kind of orange. We were called back into the kitchen, same as we had been earlier. This time the lights felt a little warmer, though the tension between everyone remained the same. Devon walked beside me without speaking. Michael and Sandro were already inside when we arrived, and the four of us took our seats like clockwork, no words, just a shared sigh of getting through the day.
The food looked—strange. Not strange strange, just... unfamiliar in how normal it was. Spaghetti Bolognese. Garlic bread. A small salad on the side. The kind of meal you'd expect at a cozy dinner table, not here. It wasn't plated in some bougie deconstructed way. It looked like food. Real food. Like someone somewhere thought we should feel human for a second. Which only made it weirder.
I stared at my plate, fork dangling between my fingers, and thought, God, imagine if Elias had a daughter. I'd marry her just for this dinner alone. Hell, I'd marry Elias himself if he keeps feeding me like this. Then I paused. Thought about it again.
I leaned toward Devon and whispered, "Do you think Elias is married?"
Devon didn't even look at me at first. He just kept eating, then gave me a slow side glance. The kind that didn't need words to say, if you'd done the research instead of daydreaming, you'd already know. Then he finally replied, "No. He's not."
"Shit," I said.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why are you asking that?"
I shrugged, feigning innocence. "I don't know. I was just wondering. I mean... what? He looks like he's in his thirties?"
Devon wiped his mouth with his napkin. "He's thirty-eight."
"Damn," I muttered. "Thirty-eight. That's... oh."
Devon raised his brows. "You really didn't do any of the prep, did you?"
"I sat next to you while you were doing it," I replied, stabbing at a meatball. "I picked up some stuff."
He just shook his head slowly and went back to his plate.
I know how Devon sees me. I know he doesn't think I'm a responsible adult. And the truth is, I am very much an adult. But I've seen it in his eyes—how he looks at me like I'm the tag-along. Like I'm still that kid with no plan who just clung to him when everything else fell apart. I know he doesn't take me seriously. He thinks I'm careless. A burden. He said it once before, during a fight, and I know deep down he still holds onto it. It doesn't hurt the same way anymore. I guess I've started agreeing with him.
I never meant to be a leech. I just... don't know what else to be sometimes.
Then Mark walked in.
Same suit. Same walk. Same rhythm to his footsteps. Déjà vu hit me hard. I'd seen this exact thing just this morning—Mark entering like a storm cloud in a blazer. I knew he was coming for me before he even opened his mouth.
"Treasure," he called, his voice clipped but not unkind. "Let's go."
I turned slowly and looked at him. "Mark, is there really something personal between you and my eating time? Because this is the second time in a single day that you've interrupted my food."
He didn't even blink. "You'll have plenty of time to eat. Come on."
I stood up with a dramatic sigh, left my plate half-finished, and followed him. We didn't talk until we reached the start of the stairs. He stopped there and turned to me.
"You're not going to need an earpiece for this," he said. "Elias just wants to see you. That's all. You know the way."
He turned and walked off without another word. I stared at the stairs.
No, I didn't know the way.
But I went anyway. Climbed slowly, trying to remember how we got to Elias's office earlier, tracing the corners and angles of the hallway in my mind, but none of it clicked into place. Every turn looked the same. Every stretch of hallway had the same cold art, the same thick silence.
Then a voice came from behind me.
"Oh, Treasure."
I turned fast.
Elias stood at the end of the hallway, one hand resting casually on the railing. He smiled like he hadn't just scared the soul out of me.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
I straightened, trying to cover how startled I was. "No. I was coming."
"Well, you don't need to. Let's go," he said, and began descending the stairs without waiting for me to catch up.
I followed him, a few steps behind. The soft sound of our footsteps on the sleek floor filled the silence. And as I walked, I couldn't shake the thought—I'm the one who's supposed to be protecting this man. Why does it feel like he's the one babysitting me?
There was no one around. No staff sweeping by. No Mark. No Devon. Just us. The entire house felt like it had emptied itself for this one scene.
We stepped outside into the garden. The air was cool, the kind that settles over your skin like soft fabric. The scent of all those flowers still hung in the air, thick and unreal. The lights cast everything in gold. Elias walked ahead of me, hands tucked into the pockets of a light jumper. He wore straight-legged jeans, the kind that looked expensive without trying to be, and a calm that didn't match the silence.
He didn't say anything for a while, just walked. I followed. My legs fell into rhythm behind him like they didn't know how to do anything else.
Eventually, he spoke.
"You know," he said, his voice steady, "it's good to get to know the people who stand between you and a bullet."
I blinked at the word. A bullet? It sounded so... stark coming from him.
He turned slightly toward me. "Have you ever been in a situation like that before?"
I cleared my throat. "Knives, mostly. That was the closest. Though... we've had jobs where there were guns. Bullets involved, but never directly fired at us."
Elias nodded thoughtfully. "I've been in one," he said. "It was in S.A. Random situation. Some guy with a gun, walking around, waving it. Crowd panic. Not targeted. Just chaos. Still... it stays in your memory. Crazy day."
"Yeah," I said. "Must've been."
Then he stopped walking and looked at me. "You don't have to be so timid around me, you know."
I opened my mouth to say something, but he didn't wait.
"I know we had a weird start yesterday. You're probably still a little shook from what happened, but I just want you to know—I didn't take it as a sign that you weren't good at your job. It was a moment. That's all. These things happen."
I swallowed hard.
"I don't want you to treat me like I'm this powerful person who's going to get you in trouble," he continued. "This isn't school. It's a job. You're going to be around me a lot. You'll have to loosen up."
I nodded, eyes on the path.
He took a few more steps, then glanced back at me. "Pick your steps up. You don't have to walk behind me, Treasure."
I adjusted, stepping forward until I matched his pace. We walked side by side now, our shoes crunching softly against the gravel.
Then he said something that made my brain pause.
"You look like someone who might enjoy the stars tonight."
I blinked.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I furrowed my brow slightly, walking a little closer to him, keeping my steps light over the gravel. "Um… what does that mean?"
Elias looked ahead for a moment, then let out a faint breath, not quite a sigh. "I don't know. Your name's very poetic," he said, tilting his head like he was still forming the sentence. "You seem soft-spoken. You move differently than the others. You've got this... stillness about you. And I guess it's just hard to put someone like you in this kind of job. You don't look like you have that—toughness. That hardness most people in this field wear like armor." He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Though who knows. Maybe in tight situations, you do."
I smiled faintly, but I didn't show teeth. "I'm a man, after all. And men know how to take control of such situations."
He gave a short laugh. "Not all men. Some freeze. Some don't do shit when it counts." Then he turned to me a bit more directly. "But I know you're good at your job. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. I'm not doubting that. I just mean—I'm intrigued by you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is this still about my name?"
He shook his head, though his smile remained. "Not exactly. It's part of it, sure. I mean… you wouldn't even say who named you. That makes it kind of stick, doesn't it?"
I exhaled slowly. "I don't know why you think I'm just hiding it from you. I'm not. I truly don't know."
Elias slowed down his pace just enough that we were walking side by side again. "Is it because you were in an orphanage?"
I gave him a nod. "Yeah. You've got it now. You already know."
"I didn't. Not before this morning," he said. "I checked your file earlier. I had it pulled up. It's... impressive. Honestly. Everything you've done, how you've kept going, how you got here."
The praise caught me off guard. It wasn't what I expected to hear from him.
I lowered my gaze. "Thanks," I said, unsure what else to offer.
"You're welcome," he replied, voice softening a bit. "Very welcome. What really stood out to me was how your resume matched Devon's almost line for line. All your jobs. Same history. Same teams. You've been working together for years."
I didn't even hesitate. "Devon and I are childhood best friends."
Elias stopped walking. "Oh my god," he said, grinning wide. "That's so cute. That's... that's amazing. Honestly, this is like—like the story writes itself. You grow up together, and now you work together. It's like a script."
I squinted at him. "What's so amazing about it?"
He looked genuinely delighted. "Just... you two. Childhood best friends, doing everything together, and now this. Now you're here on this strange, high-paying job in this ridiculous house. That's a lifetime. You've known him your whole life."
"Yeah," I said. "Almost twenty-two years."
His smile faltered slightly. "Twenty-two years. That's almost your entire life."
"It is my whole life."
Then he tilted his head again. "Aren't you bored yet?"
The question hit me unexpectedly, and I narrowed my eyes. "No. He's like family to me."
"Oh—family," Elias echoed. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense."
I looked at him carefully. "Watch your words."
His eyebrows lifted. "Oh—sorry. Have I crossed a line? That wasn't nice of me. You're right."
I didn't say anything. He seemed to redact himself fast enough. Like a line of code he didn't like the sound of. That's how he spoke, I realized. Like someone typing in real time and backspacing as he went, only correcting himself after the words had already landed. It was like he was still figuring out how to sound human. And I was supposed to keep up.
Then he asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?"
I paused. "Wasn't that in the profile?"
He laughed, a little louder this time. "No, it wasn't. But I figured—a girlfriend isn't something you put in a file. If you were married, sure. But a girlfriend? Nah. Not important enough."
I nodded. "Yeah. I never took any of that seriously anyway. So, no girlfriend. No fiancée. No wife. No nothing."
"That's nice," Elias said, smiling again. "Means you're very dedicated to your work."
I gave a dry chuckle. "When you spend almost your whole life working, yeah, that's bound to happen. Didn't leave much time for anything else."
He tucked his hands back in his pockets and turned his head toward me again. "Do you have a preference? In women, I mean."
I blinked. "Not... really. No. I don't think I do."
He tilted his head with that half-smirk again. "So just anyone would do?"
I stopped walking for a second, then faced him properly. "I'm not someone from the streets, Mr. Maxwell," I said calmly. "I just haven't really thought about it."
He held my gaze, then gave a soft nod. "Right. I'm sorry. Maybe you aren't even into women. That was a poor assumption."
"It wasn't an assumption."
His smile lingered, curious. "Oh?"
I shrugged. "I am into women. But I'm not... I'm not really thinking about that now. Or anything. Maybe I'll think about it later and give you some feedback."
He laughed. Full, loud, genuine. "Yeah. I'd like that."
We continued walking in silence after that. The sound of our steps pressed against the gravel in an even, unhurried rhythm. The garden around us was dim, lit by soft lights sunk into the ground, casting long shadows under the hedges and illuminating just enough to see where the path curved. The air was cooler now, heavy with scent—still those same flowers, sweet to the point of being suspicious, like they had been sprayed on rather than grown.
I didn't know what he was trying to do.
Was he trying to build trust? Trying to make me feel seen, understood, special? Was the goal to get me to protect him harder than anyone else ever had? Like I'd throw myself in front of danger not out of duty, but out of something deeper? Because if that was what he wanted, he really didn't need to do all this. All he had to be was a decent, humble man. That alone would've been enough.
But this… this way of speaking, this rhythm he had, this peculiar pause-and-play script that made him sound less like a person and more like someone reenacting a conversation he read online—it made me uncomfortable. Not in a dramatic way. Just subtly. Quietly. Like an itch I couldn't reach.
Maybe he wasn't robotic. Maybe he was just rich. Maybe when you have too much money, you don't need social cues anymore. Maybe everyone adjusts to you so much that you forget how to adjust back.
And what was that earlier? The thing he said about me possibly liking men? What the f—
"Do you have any questions for me?" he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet like it was nothing.
I glanced at him. "Am I allowed to ask you questions?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Of course. I'm giving you permission."
The way he said it made me feel like I'd stepped into some strange version of a workplace roleplay exercise. Still, I nodded back.
"Why aren't you married?" I asked, without hesitation.
Elias coughed, then laughed. It was a light, surprised sound, like I'd thrown something at him and he caught it with a grin. "Oh my god. That was so unexpected." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I really don't believe in marriage. I believe in living fully, in enjoying life the way it comes, and not bothering with marriage. That part always felt unnecessary to me."
I looked ahead at the path. "Have there been women who tried? Like, tried to get close because you're wealthy? For your name, your money?"
He laughed again, though this time it had a different tone—less surprised, more knowing. "Not really. I don't let people close. That's kind of the trick. You don't get hurt by the ones you don't let in."
I nodded slowly. "Ah, I see. So you walk around with your security guards. You talk to them. You take a stroll in the garden. That's how close people get to you."
He paused. That hit something.
"I don't really like that question," he said eventually. "But I'll try to answer around it." His hands remained in his pockets, his shoulders slightly stiffened. "I do talk to my bodyguards. All of them. I talk to people. But sometimes they misunderstand me. They misread my intentions. That part sucks. But I keep doing it anyway. Because one day, someone will get it. That's what I tell myself."
I narrowed my eyes. "What intentions are there to be misunderstood, Mr. Maxwell?"
He turned to look at me, lips curving softly. "Call me Elias," he said. "I don't like the whole 'Mr. Maxwell' thing. Not between us. Of course, in front of others, keep it formal. But here—between us—it's Elias."
"Alright." I nodded once. "But you were saying... they assume things?"
He exhaled, long and slow. "Yeah. They assume. About me. About what I mean when I talk. It's frustrating. But I've made peace with it."
I nodded. "Well, as long as this stays professional between us, that's all that matters."
He grinned again, that same strangely boyish expression. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry. Everything's still professional. You're here doing your job, right?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm doing my job."
He laughed softly. "I mean, if you don't want to think of this as a friendly walk in the garden, you can consider it escort duty. You're escorting me during my evening walk."
I tilted my head. "No, I don't like the sound of the latter. I'll take it as a friendly walk in the garden."
"Okay," he said, nodding. "That's nice. I like that one, too."
We walked for a few more steps in quiet. The lights along the path flickered faintly under our feet. Somewhere behind the trees, a motion sensor clicked.
Then he said, "It's my bedtime." He smiled. "Walk me back to the front door and then you can head to sleep."
I nodded. "Alright."
I walked beside him, slow and steady, matching his pace as we returned through the garden and up toward the main house. The path felt longer going back. I don't know if it actually was or if it was just the silence stretching everything out.
When we reached the door, Elias turned to me.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, voice lighter now. "First thing in the morning."
"Yeah," I replied. "Good night, Elias."
He smiled. "Good night, Treasure."
He stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind him, and I heard the soft click of the lock a second later.
I stood there for a while, unsure why I wasn't moving. Then I turned around and walked back through the garden, retracing the route to the service wing, toward the little side door that led to our room.
And as I reached for the handle, I paused and just stood there.
I didn't understand what the fuck just happened.