I wasn't rich. I wasn't famous. Just a teacher with a dangerous secret-and a target on my back.
Then he showed up.
Dante Moretti: six-foot-four, armed, silent, and terrifyingly hot. With scars on his jaw and secrets in his eyes, he didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like the man they warned you about.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't offer comfort. Just told me to pack a bag and stay alive.
Now we're trapped in a remote cabin with no cell service, one bed, and a tension so thick it could snap.
He's made it clear-he's here to protect me.
But the way he watches me? Touches me? Owns me?
It doesn't feel like protection.
It feels like possession.
And maybe, just maybe... I don't want to be saved.
I want to be kept.
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