I wasn't supposed to get a bodyguard. I wasn't rich. I wasn't famous. Just a teacher with a dangerous secret—and a target on my back. Then he showed up. Dante Moretti: six-foot-four, armed, silent, and terrifyingly hot. With scars on his jaw and secrets in his eyes, he didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like the man they warned you about. He didn't ask questions. Didn't offer comfort. Just told me to pack a bag and stay alive. Now we're trapped in a remote cabin with no cell service, one bed, and a tension so thick it could snap. He's made it clear—he's here to protect me. But the way he watches me? Touches me? Owns me? It doesn't feel like protection. It feels like possession. And maybe, just maybe… I don't want to be saved. I want to be kept.