ELI
At first, I thought I was being paranoid. But no, the extra eyes weren't just in my head they were everywhere. I could feel them.
Even if the guards didn't stand right beside me, their presence clung to the air like static. Every hallway I walked through, every garden path I took, every breath I exhaled while lounging by the indoor pool, they were there. I couldn't see them directly, but I could feel them. The energy. The pressure. That tightness in my chest whenever I made a turn and caught a glimpse of a sharp-suited man pretending to adjust his earpiece or talking into his wrist like I wouldn't notice.
I'd overheard Damir's phone call days ago, the low growl in his voice when he'd said, "I don't care how discreet it looks. Tighten the perimeter. I want double security whenever my baby leaves the house."
His baby. That was me.
And ever since then, something changed.
It wasn't just the usual guards I'd see patrolling at a distance. It was silent replacements. Swifter footsteps. New faces that never smiled. One time, I went to sit by the koi pond and the wind shifted just enough to let me catch the glint of a sniper scope nestled in the shadows of the rooftop across from me.
I blinked. Laughed nervously. But it didn't go away.
Damir didn't say anything about it, of course. He was still buying me things. Way too many things. Three more Cartier bracelets appeared on my vanity that week alone. Then another laptop. A pink MacBook Air with a glittery case and a matte black Alienware beast that I barely knew how to operate. And just yesterday, he'd had another limited-edition Mercedes delivered in my favorite pastel lemon shade.
"Pick one," he'd told me, his voice rich with affection, kissing my forehead like a proud father spoiling his child. "Or drive them all. I'll get more if you want."
I didn't even have a license.
And I didn't ask for any of it.
But back to the guards. It was driving me crazy.
I tried to ignore it. Tried to act like it was nothing. I still wore my tiny shorts around the mansion and clicked through Damir's closet like it was my own. I still made him laugh by pretending to be a mafia wife and called him "Mr. Bossman" when he handed me his black card like it was candy.
But the weight of that security? It stayed.
So I made a plan.
Late afternoon. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of Damir yelling at someone on the phone in the study. I tiptoed barefoot down the west hallway, past the mirror room, past the wine cellar, toward the servants' corridor.
That's where I saw a Young guard . Too young for a guard, almost. Short black hair, undercut, slightly flushed cheeks. His build wasn't bulky like the others. In fact, he looked like a classmate. Lean. Watchful. But cute.
He stood near the edge of the hallway, talking softly into a radio.
I crept up behind him.
"Boo."
He jumped, flinched, then turned quickly. "Ah, uh….sir…"
"Don't call me sir." I grinned, stepping closer. "You look like you're my age. What's your name?"
"I…uh…Ivan."
"Ivan," I repeated sweetly, testing the sound. "That's cute. You new here?"
His ears turned red. "Y-yes. Mr. Volkov requested additional field recruits. I was assigned to your… vicinity."
My vicinity. See? I wasn't imagining it.
"You mean… I'm the assignment?"
He blinked. Swallowed. "…Yes."
I leaned against the wall beside him, folding my arms, one brow lifted. "Why?"
Ivan hesitated. "I…I don't know the details. We just follow orders. It's… classified."
"Classified?" I huffed. "That's a fancy word for 'I don't know either.'"
He chuckled nervously. "Maybe."
For a moment, I just stared at him. Something about his honest awkwardness disarmed me. Everyone around here was always so composed, so cold. Ivan felt… real.
"So, Ivan," I murmured, tracing a finger along the marble wall, "do you get bored standing around watching the same spoiled boy parade in designer shorts all day?"
His face lit up in surprise. "You're not spoiled."
I gasped dramatically. "Are you flirting with me?"
He panicked. "No! I mean…I wouldn't…uh….you're Mr. Volkov's…"
"Pet?" I teased.
He looked like he was about to melt into the floor.
I giggled. "Relax. I'm just playing."
But the truth was… I liked talking to him.
Over the next few days, I made a habit of 'casually' wandering toward Ivan's patrol routes. Sometimes he had breaks between shifts, and I'd sit with him under the camellia tree in the courtyard. We talked about stupid things…favorite songs, weird Netflix shows, the way Russian winter felt against your face.
He told me his hometown was cold all year round. I told him I hated the cold, but that it felt warmer here because Damir never let me leave the house without layers of luxury.
"Do you ever feel trapped?" Ivan asked me once.
I tilted my head. "Only when I feel invisible."
He nodded like he understood, but I didn't explain further.
Damir never asked about Ivan. Probably didn't notice. He was too busy arranging extravagant lunches for me with chefs flown in from France. Too busy choosing which silk robe matched my mood. Too busy making sure I had everything… everything except freedom.
But I wasn't mad at him.
He was doing it to protect me.
I knew that. Even when I curled up in the velvet window seat watching rain smear across the glass. Even when I heard the muffled clicks of security boots patrolling the floor below. Even when I spotted a second Ivan-shaped figure posted near the garage.
Damir wasn't cruel.
He was just scared.
So I let him keep me safe.
And I kept sneaking off to talk to Ivan, just for the taste of something normal. Just for the sake of hearing someone say my name without calling me "young master."
Still, somewhere deep down, I knew something had changed. Something serious. Something Damir didn't want me to know about.
But I wouldn't push it.
Because as long as he was holding the world at bay for me… I could pretend not to notice the shadows gathering beyond the gates.
I could pretend I was just a spoiled, pretty boy with too many bracelets and not a single care in the world.
And sometimes, pretending was easier than facing the truth.