“If you refuse the security team, you don’t play. All financial backing of your team will end.”
It takes a second to process.
I blink. “You’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m keeping you safe,” he corrects.
I stare at him, hoping—praying—for some sign that he’s bluffing. Some flicker of hesitation, some crack in his armor.
But there’s nothing. He’s serious. He’d pull derby from me if I don’t comply. The only thing that’s ever truly been mine.
My pulse pounds in my ears. My throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”
He sighs, softer this time. “I know.”
And the worst part is—I believe him. This isn’t about control. It’s about him thinking he’s doing the right thing. That Finn is a real threat. That someone could hurt me.
I hate that I see it. That I understand it. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
I stare at the desk, jaw clenched. “Fine.”
Eric raises a brow. “Fine?”
“But don’t expect me to make it easy for them.” I flick my gaze to my dad. “Or for you.”
Dad’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eric clears his throat, stepping forward. “Then let me make the introductions.”
I force my attention back to the three men near the window.
“The security detail assigned to you is a private unit—independent of government contracts. Best in the field,” Ericsays, gesturing slightly to the group. “You’ll be under their protection full-time. Starting now.”
The one on the left is the first to move, offering a lazy two-finger salute that borders on disrespectful. His grin is sharp, full of something wicked and amused. He’s all golden hair and lean muscle, the kind of handsome that makes bad decisions seem like good ideas. His gaze meets mine without flinching, already carrying the knowledge of how to get under my skin.
Beside him stands the serious one—gray eyes, military hair cut, arms crossed as though my existence has already been deemed a problem. He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak. He watches me, cataloging every breath I take, patient and certain I’ll eventually prove him right.
And the third…he’s different. Quiet. Still. He doesn’t move, but his presence hums louder than the others. Dark hair, cut close to his head. Dark eyes. Strong shoulders. There’s something about the way he looks at me—not with judgment, not with amusement—but with something deeper. Something unreadable. He studies me with the unsettling certainty of someone who already knows me, and the suspicion of someone who doesn’t trust what he sees.
I arch a brow. “You brought me a control freak, a smartass, and a brooding alpha. What, no golden retriever types available?”
The corner of the blond one’s mouth twitches. The serious one stiffens. And the quiet one doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches.
I shake my head and shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “This is gonna be so fun.”
Then I turn to the door, already storming toward it.
“Willow.”
I pause, fingers curling around the handle.
“You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to.”
My throat tightens.
I know. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I don’t look back. I pull the door open and walk out, pretending I don’t hear the heavy footfalls of three strangers falling into step behind me.
