Blood on the Doorstep
The nanny clutched the sleeping child tightly, her own heartbeat louder than the gunfire echoing through the mansion. Every shout, every crash outside the room felt like it was getting closer.
Her mind replayed the almost-kiss—so close, so dangerous—yet now it was drowned by fear.
Suddenly, the boss's voice rang out from the hall, commanding, sharp, ruthless:
"Take them down! No one gets past this floor!"
The girl stirred in her arms, frightened by the noise. The nanny gently rocked her, whispering, "Shh… Daddy's here. He won't let anything happen." But inside, she wasn't so sure.
Moments later, the door burst open—not from an enemy, but one of the loyal guards, blood staining his sleeve.
"Boss says stay ready. They're trying to breach the east wing. It's not safe here!"
Before she could ask, the guard pulled out a smaller gun and pressed it into her trembling hands. "For protection. If anyone comes through that isn't us… don't hesitate."
Her stomach dropped. She had never held a weapon before. Yet the weight of it in her hand felt like the weight of responsibility she hadn't asked for—but couldn't run from.
Outside, footsteps thundered. A shadow moved across the doorway. She raised the gun, breath shallow, finger trembling on the trigger.
The handle slowly turned.
The door began to open—
And her eyes widened at who stood there.