Dangerous Guardian

Victoria

The last guest had just left, and the living room still carried the lingering scent of champagne and cigars. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching raindrops snake down the glass, the Manhattan skyline blurring into impressionist smears behind the water.

Tonight's party was to celebrate my graduation from Columbia. Wall Street elites had circled me all evening, spouting compliments, but my attention had been fixed on Marcus the entire time.

He wore that navy custom suit, his silver-framed glasses reflecting the crystal chandelier's light, every movement radiating that captivating, cold elegance.

I was thirteen when everything changed. Car accident. Parents gone in an instant.

Marcus appeared at the hospital in a wrinkled black suit, eyes red with grief. "Your father made me promise," he said, voice breaking. "If anything happened, I'd take care of you."

From Sterling mansion to Rothwell penthouse. From friend's daughter to... what? Ward? We never defined it.

I fought him at first—screaming, breaking things, pushing him away. But Marcus never gave up. Late-night vigils when I cried myself to sleep. Terrible homemade French toast on Sunday mornings. Front row at every school recital.

Nine years of his steady presence, his quiet devotion.

When did dependence become something else entirely? When did gratitude turn into this consuming need?

I couldn't remember the exact moment I fell in love with my guardian.

Nine years. From thirteen to twenty-two. Nine fucking years.

I turned around. Marcus was clearing wine glasses from the coffee table, his movements elegant and habitual. Always like this, handling everything personally, even though we had professional cleaning staff.

"Marcus."

"Mm?" He didn't look up, continuing to tidy.

I took a deep breath. 'Now or never.'

"I love you."

His hand froze mid-air. The expensive crystal glass slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a soft thud. Thank God for the thick Persian rug – the glass didn't shatter, just rolled under the sofa.

But Marcus looked more shattered than if the glass had exploded.

He slowly lifted his head to look at me, his deep brown eyes behind those silver frames filled with disbelief.

"What?" His voice trembled slightly. "What did you say?"

"I said I love you." I walked toward him, each step deliberate and sure. "Not as a guardian, but as a man. I want to be with you."

"What?" He asked again, his voice softer this time.

"I don't want to pretend anymore, Marcus." I stopped in front of him, close enough to catch his subtle cologne. "I love you. I want to be with you."

"What?!" The third time, his voice nearly a roar.

The rain grew heavier, hammering against the windows like percussion for this night. Only our breathing filled the living room, and the rapid drumming of my heartbeat.

Marcus removed his glasses, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his temples. His nervous habit – I knew it too well.

"Victoria, are you insane?" His voice was low and dangerous. "I'm your guardian! I promised your father I would protect you!"

"Then protect me for life." I stepped closer. "We're not blood relatives. What's wrong with that?"

"This is wrong!" He shot up, eyes blazing with fury. "Completely wrong!"

But I saw it. Behind that anger, something flickered past. Fear? Or... the same longing?

"Why is it wrong?" I pressed. "Because you feel the same way, and that scares you?"

He turned and walked away, striding toward his study. I heard him rummaging through something, then the sound of dialing.

"I need the fastest flight to London, tonight." His voice was frighteningly calm on the phone. "Private jet, ready within the hour."

My heart plummeted.

"You're sending me away?" I rushed into the study. "Marcus, what are you running from?"

He hung up and turned to face me, those deep brown eyes holding no warmth whatsoever.

"Pack your bags. We leave in an hour. I don't want to hear any more of this ridiculous talk."

"Ridiculous?" I felt a sharp pain in my chest. "So what I just said means nothing to you? It's ridiculous?"

"Victoria, you're just confused." His tone was as clinical as handling a business transaction. "You need time to cool down and think about what you're saying."

"I am thinking clearly!" My voice rose. "Clearer than I've ever been!"

But he'd already left the study, leaving me standing there alone, heart in ruins.

An hour later, we sat in the luxury sedan heading to the private airport. Rain still fell, streetlights refracting into blurry halos through the water. I sat in the back, Marcus across from me, the distance between us feeling like an entire ocean.

"You won't come see me?" I finally spoke, my voice slightly choked. "Not even for a day?"

"No." His answer was short and brutal. "I'll give you nothing but money."

Tears finally spilled over. Nine years together, nine years of daily life shared, and he'd just sentenced it to death with one phrase.

"You're really this heartless?"

"It's for your own good." He looked out the window, refusing to meet my eyes. "And mine."

The car stopped at the airport, the engine's hum gradually fading. The rain became clearer, drumming against the roof like it was drumming against my heart.

I got out. My luggage was already being loaded onto the plane. Marcus stood by the car, rain dampening his hair, but he still maintained that mesmerizing elegance.

I walked to the boarding stairs, then suddenly turned around. Rain blurred my vision, but I could still make out his face clearly.

"Marcus Rothwell," I called out, my voice cutting through the rainy night, "listen carefully – I will never give up on you. Not even if it kills me!"

I turned and boarded the plane without looking back. But I knew he was still standing there, rain soaking his clothes, soaking that carefully maintained perfect image.

The plane engines roared to life. Through the small porthole, I could see him still standing in the rain like a statue.

What he didn't know was that I already had a plan. A perfect, meticulous, absolutely foolproof plan.

London was just the first step.