CHAPTER NINE

I still couldn't sleep without my meds. Tossing and turning on the oversized bed, I tried in vain to catch even a few hours of rest before dawn, but the nightmares wouldn't let me. Eventually, I gave up and lay on my back, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

The power had come back on during the dinner, and the housekeeper—Miss Cherry, as she introduced herself— had shown me to my room. It was massive, easily the size of my old apartment. In the center stood a king-sized bed adorned with floral curtains that hung like something out of a medieval Castle.

Purple floral wallpaper covered the walls, and white marble tiles gleamed beneath my feet whenever I dared move. The bathroom felt like a separate wing altogether, with its size and luxury. Aside from the bed, the room was sparsely furnished—a single dresser stood against one wall, its oversized mirror bordered by elegant lights that looked like they belonged in a movie star's dressing room.

At first, I'd been awestruck by the room's beauty and grandeur. But now, lying in the silence and shadows, unease crept in. Every creak of the mansion seemed amplified, every shadow in the corners seemed darker. Paranoid thoughts clawed at the edges of my mind, and it began to feel like I was being watched.

Unable to take it anymore, I decided to get up and explore. The house was too vast and unfamiliar for me to leave my curiosity unchecked, and as security, I figured it wasn't exactly against the rules for me to patrol a little. Besides, Miss Cherry's only instructions were that breakfast would be served at six, and not to be late. Who eats that early, anyway?

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold marble sending a sharp jolt through my feet. Slipping on my boots, I quietly stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. From where I stood, I spotted five more doors —two on my left, two on my right, with one directly opposite mine—and a bend around the corner that likely led to either a veranda or Klaus Windsor's studies. Either way, I mentally marked it as off-limits for now.

Turning to my right, I decided to start with the room directly opposite mine. Gripping the handle, I pushed it open as quietly as I could manage. My breath caught as I took in the room.

The walls were adorned with baby pictures that I assumed were of Reid, and tucked into a corner was a baby cot, now serving as storage for unused plastic toys. The room appeared to be a storehouse for all of Reid's baby things.

Neatly arranged in another corner were a baby stroller, a child-sized toy car, a water gun, and—was that a black Barbie doll? I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh.

The uneasiness I'd felt moments ago was replaced by a curious warmth as I started rummaging through his baby things. My attention fell on a chest tucked beneath the cot. I knelt, dragging it toward me when the sound of the front door opening downstairs stopped me in my tracks.

Voices followed—low and muffled. Heart racing, I quickly slid the chest back into place and stood, ensuring everything was exactly as I had found it. I eased the door shut, locking it behind me before making my way toward the staircase to investigate.

From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I saw Miss Cherry speaking to someone in a hushed, tense tone. I crept closer, peering into the foyer—and froze.

It was him.

Before I could retreat to my room, his gaze locked onto mine.

“You must be my new bodyguard,” he said with a disarming smile, hands stuffed casually into his pockets. He shot Miss Cherry one final, pointed look before strolling toward me.

I straightened, keeping my expression neutral as I descended the stairs.

“Yes. Eugene Osborn,” I replied, introducing myself as I shook his hand when I reached the bottom. “I was told you wouldn't be arriving till tomorrow,”

“Ah, change of plans. I'm sure you understand,” He said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Have we met before?”

I tilted my head, pretending to ponder his question before shaking my head. “I don’t think so. I'm good with faces, and I'm quite sure I'd remember seeing yours anywhere other than on TV.”

He studied me for a moment, his gaze lingering, then shrugged it off. “Maybe. Your face just seems….familiar.” He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I trust Miss Cherry has told you when you'd be meeting my father?”

I nodded, clasping my hands behind my back.

“Good. First thing after breakfast tomorrow, we'll be on our way. I hate being late,” he remarked, rushing past me as he headed up the stairs.

Halfway up, he paused, speaking without turning around. “One more thing, Eugene—I don't appreciate nosy guests. Try to get some rest. We've got a big day ahead.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the upper floor.

******

The faint murmur of voices greeted me as I followed Reid into the bustling press conference venue. My disguise, which had gone unnoticed so far, gave me a confidence I hadn't expected to feel. Fitz’s choice of dreadlocks seemed to draw attention away from my face, and the oversized blazer I wore hid the slight curve of my frame.

We were accompanied by four other men in black, each with a matching earpiece like mine for easy communication. I was to stay by Reid's side, while the others secured the immediate area. Like Marcus had guessed, additional teams were stationed at strategic points, ready to act at a moment's notice.

Reid's father was nowhere to be seen, and though it wasn't directly my concern, it was clear the press and the crowd gathered around us were far more interested in meeting Klaus Windsor.

I cleared a path for Reid, pushing back reporters to make way for him. He was already in his elements, exuding the kind of charisma that could silence a room. Dressed sharply in a tailored midnight-blue suit, with a crimson tie pinned under his waistcoat, he radiated a magnetic energy that demanded attention.

His hair parted sideways, neatly slicked back with a few silver-gray streaks at the tips of his hair falling over his face. The unique streaks made him stand out even more, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes as we passed through his crowd of fans—mostly girls—who screamed his name.

At the entrance, he shook hands with a man I recognized as the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company that Windsor Industries would be partnering with, as well as other important figures attending the press conference.

The event started without a hitch. A representative sent on behalf of Klaus took the podium first, apologizing for Mr Windsor's absence before delivering an eloquent speech about the Windsor's foundation's latest charitable endeavours. His voice carried the perfect blend of authority and compassion, earning him nods of approval from the audience. I had to admit, Klaus Windsor knew how to pick his men.

But it wasn't until Reid stepped up that the room truly came alive.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began, his voice steady and commanding. His smile was effortless, and his posture relaxed yet confident. He fielded questions with ease, his responses polished but not rehearsed.

“Mr. Windsor,” a reporter stood, addressing him. “Rumors have been circulating that your father is secretly connected to the cases of illegal drugs being imported into the states. Some say his newest charitable donations, aimed at starting an organization for troubled youths, are to cover his tracks. What do you have to say about that?”

For a moment, Reid went silent, his face taut and calculating as he took in the reporter's words.

“I think you have your answer, Miss..” He gestured toward her.

“Rachel. Rachel Villiard.”

“Thank you. Miss Rachel Villiard, the keyword there is ‘rumor’. My father is a well-known, powerful businessman who takes pride in helping others as much as he helps his family. So what better way to do a good deed and get his name out there than to start up an organization where not just troubled youths, but youths who feel out of place in society, can come together, feel like they have a family, a purpose? If you ask me, I'd say he's striving to reduce the patronage of these illegal drugs—in other words, putting drug lords out of business. So until these so-called rumors have evidence to back them up, I suggest you all focus on what’s important: joining hands with my father to build a better tomorrow. Thank you.”

His delivery was smooth, the words coming effortlessly, and not a hint of anxiety in his response to the unexpected question. For a moment, I forgot why I was even there.

The sound of applause brought me back to reality. I scanned the room again, searching for any signs of trouble. Nothing. No suspicious faces, no unusual movements. Just the regular hum of conversations and flashes from cameras. Maybe Marcus had been paranoid after all.

The event wrapped up smoothly, and soon we were on our way back to the mansion. Reid sat beside me in the backseat of the sleek black SUV, scrolling through his phone, while the rest of the security had taken separate cars, leaving us with just the driver up front.

I thought about commending him on his speech but decided against it. Instead, I let the silence stretch, my eyes scanning the streets for anything suspicious. As we idled in traffic, a car on the opposite lane caught my attention. Its driver stared straight ahead, but the passenger—a heavily tattooed man—kept glancing in our direction.

I turned to Reid to see if he noticed, but he remained engrossed in his phone. By the time I looked back, the tattooed man had stepped out of the car, walking in the opposite direction while speaking into his phone. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but unease still churned in my gut.

The SUV slowed as we turned onto a secluded road lined with towering trees. The lake shimmered in the distance, its surface catching the last rays of sunlight. For a brief moment, I considered relaxing, but a gnawing realization struck me like a bolt.

Immediately, I pressed a finger to my earpiece.

“Come in, Security one. We have a possible 10-13 expected uphill. All units, be advised. Change of plans—package is diverting to Sierra–1.”

“Understood, moving into position.”

Reid looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion, but I silenced him with a quick gesture. Before he could protest, matching SUVs surrounded us—one at the front, another at the back, and two on either side. The coordinated maneuver was meant to confuse any potential attackers about which car held Reid. Doors opened swiftly, the security team extracting a reluctant Reid and replacing him with a decoy guard.

The SUVs began a seamless shuffle, swapping positions in a rehearsed, calculated dance. Front to back, side to front—they moved in such a pattern that even I lost track of which car held Reid.

Just then, the momentarily calm shattered with the crack of gunfire.

“Damn it!” the driver cursed, yanking the wheel hard. The SUV swerved violently, my stomach lurching as I reached for something to steady myself. The vehicle screeched to a stop, the driver and guard beside me springing into action, guns drawn and ready.

Another shot rang out.

Instinct took over. I reached for the handgun tucked into my jacket, my fingers trembling as I pushed open the door and crouched behind it for cover.

Peering over the edge of the door, I tried to get a glimpse of our attackers. Before I could process what I was seeing, a body collapsed behind me. My breath hitched, stifling a scream when I realized it was one of our bodyguards.

“We…we got him out of here..thanks.. to you, ” he rasped, blood staining his lips. His body went still, his lifeless eyes staring at me as tears streamed down my face.

Gunshots and dying screams filled the air, but I couldn't move. My back pressed against the SUV, paralyzed by fear.

Memories flooded in—gunfire, blood, screams. The weight of the past bore down on me, my chest tightening as panic gripped me.

“Move!” A guard barked, firing a shot just over my head.

My hands flew to cover my ears. The chaos around me blurred—the crack of gunfire, the shouts of men, the groans of the injured fading into a dull roar. My breaths came in shallow gasps, my chest tightening further until I felt like I was suffocating.

Darkness crept into the edges of my vision, narrowing my world to a single figure kneeling beside me. Reid. His voice was distant, muffled, calling my name.

His face was the last thing I saw before everything went black.