The city buzzed outside the car windows, but inside the vehicle, the silence between Emma and Max was thick. Not uncomfortable—just unfamiliar.
Emma glanced sideways. Max hadn't said a word since they left the theater. His eyes scanned the streets like they were part of a war zone.
Emma: "So, do you always look like someone's about to pull a gun on you?"
Max: "Sometimes they do."
Emma blinked.
Emma: "Right. Marine."
Max: "Bodyguard now. Which means keeping you alive."
Emma leaned back, watching him.
Emma: "Your people skills are... next level."
The corner of his lip twitched, just once. It wasn't a smile, but it was something.
Emma's Sweet Home — 10:42 PM
The black SUV stopped in front of a cozy three-story brick house nestled between two taller buildings. Vines crept up the outer wall, and dim porch lights glowed amber.
Inside, it smelled of lavender and clean linen. Emma slipped off her heels and stretched.
Emma: "Home sweet home. Try not to judge the mess. I clean when I'm stressed. Which is always."
Max looked around. Soft rugs. Stacked books. Fairy lights. Calming.
Max: "No judgment. It's peaceful."
Emma: "Thanks. You'll be staying here for now."
She led him to the second floor.
Emma: "Guest room's here. Fresh sheets. There's a lock on the door, if that makes you feel better."
Max: "I'm not the one being stalked."
Emma: "You're the one sleeping in a stranger's house."
He didn't answer, just set his duffel bag down beside the bed.
Max: "Let me walk the house. Just a check."
For the next ten minutes, Emma followed as Max checked every window, every lock, tested the alarm, and studied the back door like it personally offended him.
Emma: "You know you're making me feel less safe, right?"
Max: "Good. It means you'll take this seriously."
They ended the inspection in the kitchen. Emma opened the fridge.
Emma: "Wine?"
Max: "Water."
Emma: "God, you're impossible."
She poured him a glass and handed it over. Their fingers brushed. A flicker of something passed between them. He looked at her for a second too long.
Emma (thought in her mind): Why did that feel like a spark?
Max: "I'll keep my door slightly open. If anything feels off—wake me."
Emma: "Or just scream?"
Max: "That too."
Midnight — Emma's Room
Emma lay on her bed, eyes wide open. Her mind replayed the words from the letter over and over.
"You belong to me."
She got up and padded down the hall in socks. The door to Max's room was open an inch. She peeked in.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reading a worn black notebook, pen in hand. No sound. Just steady breath.
Emma: "You journal?"
Max: "Notes. Patterns. Entry and exit points. Shadows."
Emma: "Well... that's dark."
Max: "This is a dark situation."
She leaned against the doorframe.
Emma: "I haven't slept properly in days."
Max: "You will tonight."
His voice was low but firm. Steady. She believed it.
Emma: "Night, Max."
Max: "Night, Emma."
Next Morning — 6:32 AM
Emma woke to the smell of coffee and...eggs?
She stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed. Max stood over the stove, flipping a pancake like he was born doing it.
Emma: "Okay, you cook too? What are you—an action figure?"
Max: "Marines cook when there's no one else around."
Emma: "And here I thought you ran on protein bars and adrenaline."
He placed a plate in front of her. Pancakes. Blueberries. Syrup on the side.
Emma (softly): "…Thank you."
They sat across from each other at the table, soft morning light pouring in. For once, the silence was gentle.
Emma: "You know, for someone hired to protect me, you're surprisingly... decent."
Max: "I'm not here to be decent. I'm here to keep you alive."
Emma: "Still. It's... nice."
He said nothing. But his eyes met hers. And something shifted.
Midday — Rehearsal Studio
The moment they stepped out of the car, flashing lights exploded in their faces.
Reporter 1: "Emma! Who's the man?"
Reporter 2: "New romance? Finally dating again?"
Emma laughed, looping her arm through Max's.
Emma: "This is Max. He's... special."
Max (quietly): "Special?"
Emma (whispers): "Play along, soldier."
Inside, her manager Sarah waited.
Sarah: "Nice save outside. The headlines are already calling him your mystery boyfriend."
Emma: "Perfect. Let the rumors distract them."
Max stayed in the back during rehearsal. Emma danced, sang, laughed with her castmates—but her eyes kept drifting to him.
He stood by the mirror wall, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
Watching. Always watching.
Break Room — Later
Emma leaned against the wall beside Max.
Emma: "You make people nervous."
Max: "They should be nervous. There's someone out there who wants to hurt you."
She blinked.
Emma (softly): "You don't think it's just a crazy fan?"
Max: "Crazy fans don't deliver notes in person. This is planned."
She looked away.
Emma: "It's hard pretending everything's fine."
Max: "You don't have to pretend when you're with me."
His voice was rough but sincere.
She met his eyes. That flicker again. Unspoken understanding.
Evening — Home Again
Emma curled on the couch under a blanket, watching an old black-and-white movie. Max sat in the armchair nearby, scrolling on his phone.
Emma: "You don't take breaks, do you?"
Max: "Not when someone's watching."
Emma: "You think the stalker is watching right now?"
Max didn't answer. But he looked toward the window. Always alert.
She grabbed a second blanket and tossed it at him.
Emma: "At least look like you're relaxing."
He caught it without flinching. She smiled.
Late Night — 11:57 PM
Emma's phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
Her blood ran cold.
Unknown Number: "He looks good next to you. Almost believable. But I know he's not really yours."
Her hands trembled.
Emma: "Max…"
He was by her side in seconds.
He read the message. His jaw clenched.
Max: "He was watching you today. He was there."
Emma: "Max... I feel sick."
Max didn't hesitate. He took her hand—firm, grounding.
Max: "From now on, you're never alone. Not on stage. Not at home. Not anywhere."
Emma (quietly): "I thought this was just a game."
Max: "It's not. And whoever this is... they're getting bolder."
That night, Max sat in the hallway between their bedrooms, a gun on his lap, every light turned off, listening.
Because someone out there had crossed the line.
And Max Reynolds wasn't going to let them take one step further.