His Last Rescue Was for Her

After I agreed to the arranged marriage, my stepsister's personal bodyguards went wild. My own bodyguard—the man who'd protected me for eight years—abandoned me without a second thought when the villa caught fire. He'd pulled me from hell countless times before; everyone said he must have loved me deeply.

Yet when I stood there dazed in the smoke, he turned away without hesitation. "Miss Barley," he said, his voice ice-cold, "plenty of people will rush to save you. But Suzy only has me."

Austin—my loyal protector for nearly a decade—vanished into the smoke, his sharp suit the last thing I saw before he disappeared. I wiped my tears, swallowed the lump in my throat, and turned to accept the marriage my father had arranged.

"I don't want Austin anymore. I'll take the marriage."

Even now, waking up in the hospital, the ache in my chest feels fresh. The ward is silent except for the steady beep of machines and distant footsteps. When I open the door, I see him—Austin, always so composed, so controlled—pacing like a caged animal outside Suzy's operating room. His hands tremble slightly; his eyes are red-rimmed. He doesn't even notice me.

The operating lights flick off. Austin stumbles forward, clutching Suzy's hand like he wants to fuse her into his very bones. I've never seen him like this—raw, vulnerable—and for a moment, I forget how to move. It's only when a crowd sweeps into Suzy's room that I snap back to reality.

Through the door crack, I watch my usually stern grandmother cradle Suzy, weeping. The emptiness behind me feels suffocating.

Austin's head jerks up at the noise. "Who's there?"

Before I can speak, he shoves me to the ground. Only when I cry out does he realize it's me. He releases me instantly, stepping back with an awkward, almost guilty expression.

"Miss Barley? You should be resting." His tone is steady, but I know him too well—his posture is defensive, guarded. After eight years, I recognize what that means.

He's afraid I'll hurt Suzy.

The realization stabs through me. I try to speak, but a violent cough racks my body, my lungs burning. Austin hesitates—just as a soft voice calls from the ward: "Austin? Where are you?"

Like a puppet on strings, he withdraws, rushing back without a backward glance. I collapse against the cold floor, watching through the door as he kneels beside Suzy's bed, head bowed in devotion.

I'd chosen Austin from all the bodyguards the Family sent for one reason: his unbreakable pride. Back then, I'd stared at him with open admiration, determined to be the one who cracked his icy exterior.