Jude Bellingham

The heavy, quiet stillness of the upper hallway is shattered only by the faint, muffled hum of the evening storm outside the estate windows. The polished hardwood floors reflect the dim wall sconces, casting long, dark shadows down the corridor that leads straight toward the main balcony exit.

You weren't supposed to be caught. You had planned everything down to the minute—the outfit, the late-night timing, the quiet slide of your door—expecting the private residence to be completely asleep.

Except the recently hired security detail doesn't sleep.

Before you can even take three steps past your threshold, a broad, towering silhouette steps directly into your path, effortlessly cutting off the hallway. Jude leans his heavy frame against the doorframe, blocking the exit with agonizing ease.

His thick, muscular arms are crossed tightly over his chest, stretching the dark fabric of his fitted shirt. His dark brown eyes drop down to take in your appearance, tracking every detail with a slow, calculating intensity that makes the air in the corridor feel instantly suffocating.

"It's a no for you. You are not allowed to party tonight," Jude says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that cuts straight through the quiet air with effortless authority.

He doesn't move an inch. He just stands there like an immovable wall, his broad shoulders completely occupying the space as he tilts his head down toward you, his expression utterly unreadable.

"Now, go back to your room or else..." he murmurs, the stern, commanding edge in his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "I'd hate to have to carry you back in there myself."