Chapter 6
His tone stays conversational, almost bored.
“After today’s viral sensation? The concerned parties are already… displeased. Another incident might result in more permanent measures.”
I freeze mid-stride. My fists clench so hard my nails dig crescents into my palms.
Fuck. He doesn’t need to spell it out—I know exactly what ‘permanent measures’ means.
Getting yanked back to my gilded cage, probably with a duchess already picked out and a wedding date circled on some assistant’s calendar.
The worst part? He’s right. One more scandal and I’m on the next flight to a life sentence of ribbon cuttings and small talk about horse breeding.
Without a word—because fuck giving him the satisfaction of a response—I pivot on my heel and storm back toward my room.
My jaw’s clenched so tight I’m basically manufacturing diamonds with my molars.
Jake trails behind, looking like he’s stumbled into a telenovela without subtitles. To his credit, he keeps his mouth shut, just follows me back inside with the kind of loyalty that makes me remember why he’s my best friend.
At the threshold, Jake pauses.
Turns back to Gabriel with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen—and considering I grew up in diplomatic circles, that’s saying something.
“Sorry, man,” Jake says, voice dripping artificial sweetener. “Technically this isn’t just Leo’s room—it’s mine too. And I’m feeling super introverted tonight. You understand.”
The door shuts with a satisfying click. The lock slides home like a middle finger in hardware form.
Through the door, I can practically feel Gabriel’s presence, probably standing there calculating his next move like the professional stalker he is.
But for now, he’s on the other side of two inches of wood and a deadbolt, and that’s the closest thing to victory I’m getting tonight.
“So,” Jake says after a beat, flopping onto his bed. “That was intense. You two having a lover’s quarrel or did he just give you a bad grade on your Statistics homework?”
I could explain.
Could tell him everything—the crown, the deception, the fact that my entire life is a carefully orchestrated lie. But Jake just locked out a guy who could probably have him deported with one phone call, no questions asked.
“Something like that,” I mutter, collapsing face-first onto my bed. “Thanks for the save.”
“What are roommates for if not passive-aggressive door slamming?” Jake’s already pulling out his laptop, giving me space to spiral in peace. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. Or if you want to pretend it never happened and watch terrible reality TV instead.”
And that’s why Jake’s the real friend.
No interrogation, no pushing for details I’m not ready to give. Just solid, unconditional support and the promise of trash television.
We spend the rest of the evening in comfortable silence—him coding, me staring at the ceiling contemplating whether I can transfer to a university in Antarctica.
Penguins don’t care about royal bloodlines, right?
Morning arrives like a hangover—unwanted and aggressive. Jake’s already gone when I finally drag myself to consciousness, probably off to his 8 AM Computer Science lecture like a functional human being.
Must be nice.
I’m still in bed, debating whether I can convince my father that dropping out to become a sheep farmer in New Zealand is character building, when there’s a knock at my door.
I know who it is before I even open it.
Only one person knocks with that specific rhythm—professional, persistent, infuriating.
Gabriel stands there holding a printed schedule, looking fresh as a fucking daisy at 7 AM. That same easy smile plays at his lips, like yesterday never happened.
Like he didn’t shatter my trust into microscopic pieces.
“Morning,” he says, pushing past me into the room without invitation. “Productive day ahead of us. Your father expects you to maintain a 3.5 GPA this semester, minimum. Can’t have the future of Liechtenstein flunking out of Statistics.”
The rage that blooms in my chest feels like swallowing acid. He’s talking about my life like it’s a spreadsheet, another box to tick on his professional to-do list.
“Fantastic,” I say, voice flat as roadkill. “Can’t wait.”
He either misses my sarcasm or ignores it, settling into Jake’s desk chair like he owns the place.
“Morning run in twenty minutes. High-protein breakfast after. Then your Comparative Literature lecture at ten, followed by—”
“I can read,” I interrupt, snatching the schedule from his hands. “Anything else, or are you going to start dictating when I’m allowed to take a shit too?”
Something flickers across his face—annoyance maybe, or disappointment.
Good. I hope every interaction with me makes his job miserable.
“Just trying to help you succeed,” he says, and the professional calm in his voice makes me want to flip furniture. “That’s what your father hired me for.”
“Right. Because you care so deeply about my academic success.” I grab my running clothes with unnecessary force. “Not like you have any other motivations. Purely altruistic.”
* * *
The next few days become a masterclass in malicious compliance.
I follow his precious schedule to the letter—show up to every run, every meal, every study session. But I make damn sure he earns every penny of whatever my father’s paying him.
Silent treatment that could freeze hell. One-word answers delivered with the warmth of a morgue.
When he suggests a salad for lunch, I order the greasiest pizza I can find and maintain eye contact while eating it.
Petty? Absolutely. Satisfying? Immensely.
Gabriel’s professional mask starts slipping. Little cracks appear when I respond to his questions with nothing but “yes,” “no,” or “whatever.”
His jaw tightens when I deliberately take the opposite route he suggests during our runs. The polished bodyguard persona frays at the edges when I treat him like the enemy he’s proven himself to be.
But then Thursday morning fucks everything up.
Cambridge decides to cosplay as an ice rink overnight. Frost slicks every surface, turning our regular running route into a death trap. I’m pushing pace just to piss him off, taking corners too fast, when my foot hits a patch of black ice.
The world tilts. I’m going down hard, already bracing for pavement to meet face, when Gabriel’s hand shoots out.
He catches my arm with reflexes that scream years of training, hauling me upright before I can even process what happened.
For a heartbeat—just one—his grip is gentle. Protective.
His thumb brushes my elbow, checking for injury, and his eyes hold something that looks dangerously like genuine concern.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice softer than it’s been all week.
The same voice that used to tease me in the library, that called me interesting, that made me believe we were something more than operative and assignment.
I jerk away like his touch is poison. Because it is. It’s everything I can’t afford to want anymore.
“Don’t pretend you care,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended, all glass edges and barely contained hurt. “We both know I’m just another assignment. Another line item in your report.'”
Pain flashes across his features—quick, raw, real.
But then the mask slides back into place, smooth as silk, professional as a funeral. It’s a reminder of how good he is at this game, how well he’s been trained to show people exactly what they need to see.
I turn away before I can do something stupid like believe that a flash of emotion meant anything.
“Keep up, bodyguard,” I called over my shoulder, already running again, feet pounding against frozen ground. “I’m not carrying my crown by myself.”
