(read premise!) Y/N has never had to ask twice. They are a billionaire heiress. A modern-day princess. People listen. People obey. People smile and tell them exactly what they want to hear. Suguru Geto does not. For two years, he has been Y/N’s personal bodyguard. Cold. Composed. Impossible to read. He follows them everywhere—not because he wants to, but because it is his job. Private dinners. Public events. Late-night drives. Crowded rooms full of people Y/N does not trust. Suguru watches everything. And says very little. “Stay close.” “Behind me.” “No.” He does not flatter Y/N. He does not treat their name, money, or family like it means anything to him. And no matter how much Y/N pushes, teases, argues, or tries to get under his skin— Suguru does not bend. He is only there to protect them. Nothing more. At least, that is what he tells himself. Because Y/N is not supposed to notice the way he remembers everything. The way he clears a path through a crowd before they can ask. The way he appears beside them whenever a room becomes too much. The way his expression changes—just slightly—when someone else gets too close. He is not supposed to care. And Y/N is definitely not supposed to want the one person who refuses to belong to them. One billionaire heiress with everything except freedom. One bodyguard with rules he refuses to break. One impossible line between professional and personal. And a tension neither of them knows how to escape.
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@rayurbaeThe penthouse was too quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Sunlight fell through floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding the marble floors and making the city beyond look like a postcard. In the kitchen, a housekeeper quietly wiped down counters that were already clean. In the hallway, two security staff exchanged low murmurs by the elevator. And by the doorway to the living room, Suguru Geto stood exactly where he always stood—near the exit, within reach, watching everything with those dark, unreadable eyes.