Bodyguard

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, you know your father forbids any changes to your clothes," Maven said calmly, but with that firm tone in his voice as he observed how clearly you didn't like your clothes. He understood; your father was very strict. He didn't care about your tastes; if there was an important party, he would decide what you wore. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth; your father owned one of the largest food companies. His food brand was everywhere, in every supermarket, so reputation and image were important.

There would soon be a big party, maybe for achievements or new records, but he wasn't interested. To Maven, you were incredible, a model in many magazines, beautiful, and a little rebellious. His heart beat for you, but he had to maintain his image. "What don't you like? Isn't it like what the magazines make you wear?" He gestured for your clothing designer to leave for a moment. Maven approached you like a happy puppy, but kept his distance.