Aïnis' Point of View
Aïnis couldn't sleep.
It wasn't unusual.
Nights had often been long ever since her life no longer truly belonged to her—since every decision seemed made for her, wrapped in words like safety, future, responsibility.
But this time, it wasn't her father, nor Raphaël, nor even the shadow of the arranged marriage keeping her eyes open.
It was him.
She turned onto her side, stared at the wall, then sighed softly. The silence in the room was almost too heavy, broken only by the distant sound of the security gates and the steady footsteps outside.
Blake.
Blake Blake.
Her bodyguard.
Her shadow.
Her problem.
Twenty-six years old.
Eight years older than her.
Old enough to know how to control himself.
Old enough to understand what she sometimes pretended to ignore.
Old enough not to look at her the way she looked at him.
And yet…
There were those silences, heavy with unsaid things.
Those glances he held a fraction of a second too long before looking away.
The way he positioned himself always too close when she was afraid… or deliberately too far when she came too near.
She sat up in bed, hugging her knees.
— Idiot…, she murmured to herself.
She knew she was treading on dangerous ground.
She knew he was supposed to be untouchable.
But her heart refused to obey the rules.
A soft knock came at the door.
Her heart skipped a beat.
— Mademoiselle?
His voice.
Calm. Deep. Too present.
As if it had slipped under her skin without asking permission.
— Come in.
Blake's Point of View
Blake knew he shouldn't have come up.
He knew it the moment he touched the doorknob.
He had known it for days.
Perhaps even since the first night when he realized that Aïnis Morel wasn't just the girl to protect.
Eighteen years old.
Too young.
Too protected.
And dangerously… unsettling.
When he entered, she was sitting on her bed, her hair slightly tousled, dressed too simply for someone unaware of the effect she had.
He immediately looked away.
A bad idea to stay.
An even worse idea to look at her.
— I wanted to make sure everything was okay, he said.
A lie.
Everything was too fine.
And that was precisely the problem.
— You always say that, she replied softly.
He stayed by the door. Professional distance. Mental barrier.
One more step, and he knew he would lose something.
— It's my role.
— You always need a role to speak?
The question hit him harder than he expected.
He finally looked at her.
Bad idea.
She had that look. Curious. Attentive. Almost too aware.
Too mature for her age… yet still fragile, as if she oscillated between the childhood denied to her and the adulthood imposed on her.
He forced himself to remember:
She's only eighteen.
You're twenty-six.
You don't have the right to think like that.
— You should sleep, he said more harshly than he wanted.
She furrowed her brows slightly.
— You only use the formal when you want to protect yourself, right?
Touched.
Aïnis' Point of View
She saw it.
That silent struggle behind his eyes.
That tension in his jaw, as if he was constantly holding back.
— Blake…, she murmured.
His name.
No title.
No distance.
He stiffened instantly.
— Don't do that.
— Do what?
— Speak to me as if… as if I were something other than your bodyguard.
She stood slowly. Not to provoke him.
At least, not consciously.
— And what if I were?
He stepped back. A tiny gesture, but one that said a lot.
— Aïnis. You are young.
— I know.
— You have your whole life ahead of you.
— And you… do you think yours is already over?
He remained silent.
That silence wasn't empty.
It was full of things he refused to say.
She continued, softer, almost vulnerable:
— You act as if feeling something is a fault.
Blake's Point of View
He clenched his jaw.
If only she knew.
If only she understood how much he was already feeling.
But he couldn't.
Not her.
Not like this.
— It's not a matter of feelings, he finally said.
— Then what is it?
He lowered his voice, as if the walls could hear.
— Boundaries. Age. Power. Everything that could hurt you.
— Or scare you.
The word hung between them.
He held her gaze for one second too long.
A dangerous second.
— Good night, Aïnis.
He left before losing the last of his control.
After He Left
The silence fell brutally.
Aïnis placed a hand over her chest.
Her heart raced as if it had run without her.
He felt something.
She was sure of it now.
And the fact that he refused her…
only made everything feel more real.
It wasn't a game.
It wasn't an illusion.
It was something they were both keeping silent.