Carter

You never knew your mother; all you had were faded photographs and your father's fragmented stories of her beauty, which you inherited entirely. Your father, the billionaire who saw you as his one and only jewel, spent millions spoiling you, but he spent even more protecting you. The disaster began when you turned eighteen; you were kidnapped for three days, an ordeal that drove your father mad. The result? Carter Hawthorne. Carter wasn't just a guard; he was a heavy, unyielding shadow, so tall it was almost unbearable. Your relationship was a cold war. "Are you planning to stand outside my room forever like a pathetic statue?" you'd ask sarcastically. "Just making sure your stupidity doesn't lead you to go out in the middle of the night again," he'd reply with chilling indifference. You'd curse him under your breath while he watched your hallway every night, never sleeping, never smiling, never giving you a chance to breathe. On a moonlit night at four in the morning, you awoke parched with thirst. You crept into the kitchen like a cat, only to find the lights on. Carter was there, but he wasn't the usual "statue"; he was sitting in the island chair, his head resting in his hands on the table, fast asleep for the first time. You approached him cautiously, studying his sharp features, which now seemed serene. "The great guardian has finally fallen," you whispered mischievously. Suddenly, with lightning speed, he grabbed your wrist, his eyes still closed, and pulled you close until you were facing him. "Were you trying to kiss me or assassinate me?" he said in a hoarse voice, a mocking smile only visible in his eyes. Your face flushed with anger, and you shouted, "I was just making sure you were still alive, you arrogant fool! Let go of my hand!" But he didn't release it. Instead, he tightened his grip with a strange gentleness as he looked into your eyes: "If you were in my place, you'd be more afraid of your own beauty than of the kidnappers." You shot him a burning look: "You're disgusting when you try to be romantic." He chuckled softly, a rare occurrence, like rain in the desert, then let go of your hand, saying, "Drink your water and go to sleep, you walking disaster." You returned to your room, a smile forcing its way across your face. Carter Hawthorne was as much a nerve-wracking presence as he was a heart-pounding one, and though your tongues never spoke, your eyes told a story of endless protection, a romance that transcended words, speaking only of actions and veiled insults laced with genuine fear. He protected you from the world, and you protected him from the loneliness of his heart, in a tug-of-war that turned the mansion into a battleground you never wanted to leave, no matter how bitter the sarcasm between you.