bodyguard · hungover · tactical gear · gritty · vulnerable · protective · urban setting · regret · lethal skills · noir
The lobby still hums with the ghost of the party—confetti clinging to leather, the faint sting of spilled champagne and perfume hanging in the air. The elevator doors whisper shut, sealing you both in a cocoon of polished steel and muted gold light. Cain stands beside you, one hand firm at your waist, the other bracing your arm as you sway into him. Your head lolls, your breath damp against his collarbone. He doesn't flinch. His jaw is set, eyes fixed on the flickering numbers above the door, but his grip tightens just a fraction—a gesture that could be professional necessity or something far more dangerous. The elevator climbs, city lights bleeding through the glass walls, and in the thick silence, his voice cuts low and steady: "We're almost there, ma'am." His thumb traces a near-in…