This was my 11th year working for Westley Grimshaw. Eleven years as his private bodyguard. His shadow. His weapon. And tonight… I decided I was done.

I walked into a tiny secret pharmacy on the south side of the city. The kind of place people only visited when they didn’t want questions. The neon light flickered and the whole place smelled like cheap antiseptic. I dropped a thick roll of cash on the counter.

The old pharmacist looked at it, then at me. “What do you need?”

“Something that’ll make people think I’m dead.”

He stared like he was waiting for me to laugh.

I didn’t.

After a moment he sighed and shuffled to the back. When he came out, he slid a small glass vial across the counter.

“Fake death pill,” he said. “Pulse slows down little by little. Breathing fades. By the fourtenth day you’ll look completely dead.”

My fingers tightened around the vial. “And after that?”

“You’ll wake up in two days later,” he said. “If nobody buries you first.”

A small laugh slipped out of me. “Yeah. That’d be awkward.”

He studied my face again. “Girl… whatever you’re trying to escape from must be hell.”

The snow outside hit my face like knives. I pulled my coat tighter and started walking back toward Westley’s mansion.

Eleven years.

My mind drifted back to that winter eleven years ago. I was twelve and the country was starving. People were selling everything just to survive. Some sold their homes. Some sold their kids, but me?

I sold myself.

One thousand dollars. That was what a slave broker paid for me. Why? Because my little sister was starving and I thought maybe if I disappeared she’d live longer.

Stupid kid.

The broker never made it to the city. The gang attacked the convoy in the mountains. Kids were screaming and horses were crashing through the snow. When it was over everyone was dead.

Everyone except me.

I crawled through the snow with broken ribs and frozen hands. I remember thinking… so this is how I die.

Cold. Alone.

Then headlights cut through the storm. A black Rolls Royce stopped in front of me. The door opened and a boy stepped out.

Westley Grimshaw.

Fifteen years old and already the most feared heir in the New York mafia world. He looked down at me lying in the snow like I was just another stray animal.

“You still breathing?” he asked casually.

I forced my eyes open.

He crouched beside me and tilted his head slightly. “You wanna live?”

I nodded so hard my vision spun. “P-please… I don’t wanna die.”

He watched me for a second, then stood. “Put her in the car,” he told his driver. Then he looked down at me again. “But listen carefully…From today on, your life belongs to me. Understand?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Okay.”

That night he gave me hot porridge. A thick winter coat. And a knife.

“You’ll need it,” he told me.

From that day on, he trained me himself. Guns, knives, surveillance, killing without leaving evidence. By the time I was grown, people in the underworld called me Westley Grimshaw’s ghost. But somewhere along the way something inside me broke.

When did I start loving him?

Maybe the time I nearly died during a mission and he stayed at my hospital bed for three days straight.

Maybe when he taught me how to write properly and leaned over my shoulder, his breath warmed against my ear.

Or maybe that stupid charity gala last year when someone drugged him. And he dragged me into his office that night and pushed me against the wall.

“Don’t move,” he muttered hoarsely.

“B-boss… you’re not thinking straight.”

“Stop calling me that tonight,” he said, gripping my waist.

His eyes were dark. Dangerous. Then he kissed me hard. Like he’d been holding it back for years.

After that night we never talked about it. Not once.

But every few days he came to my room. Sometimes it was gentle, sometimes it's rough like he needed to burn something out of his system.

He never promised me anything. And I never asked. Because who was I? Just the girl he picked up from the snow. Just his bodyguard. Just his secret.

Westley Grimshaw never loved anyone.

Until the day he carried a girl into the mansion.

I was standing in the hallway when he walked in with her in his arms. At first I didn’t care. Westley saved people sometimes. But then the girl lifted her face.

My blood froze.

No.

That couldn’t be…

It was her! My little sister. Natalia. The sister I thought died years ago.

Westley set her down gently and she looked around the mansion. Then her eyes landed on me.

She froze.

“Amelia…?”

Before I could even breathe she ran straight at me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Sister!” she cried, shaking. “Oh my God, it’s really you! I thought you died!”

My hands trembled as I hugged her back. “Natalia… you’re alive?”

“I missed you so much,” she sobbed. “I looked everywhere for you.”

I pulled back slightly. “What happened? How did you survive?”

She wiped her tears. “After you disappeared I lived on the streets for a while. Then a rich family adopted me. They raised me like their daughter.” Her voice cracked. “But a few days ago a gang attacked their house. Everyone died… except me.”

She glanced toward Westley.

“He saved me.”

For a moment my chest filled with something warm. Maybe God finally decided to stop punishing me. But then I looked at Westley.

And I noticed the way he was looking at Natalia.

Soft.

Interested.

Different.

My stomach twisted. Why was he looking at her like that? No… Amelia, you’re imagining things.

Right?

…Right?

Westley never trained Natalia the way he trained me. He never handed her a gun or a knife and told her to learn how to survive. Instead he hired private tutors. Piano, art, chess, languages. Expensive teachers from New York and Europe came in and out of the mansion like she was some princess.

Natalia hated the dark, so he had the staff install warm lights all around her backyard and hallway. She once mentioned she liked pear blossoms and a month later the gardeners planted an entire row of imported pear trees outside her windows.

I watched all of it quietly.

Funny, right? I had spent 11 years bleeding for him and the girl only had to smile.

Then Natalia got poisoned.

A rival mafia heir named George Vale was behind it. People called him the 3rd Prince of the underworld because his family controlled half the criminal networks on the East Coast. Everyone also knew something else about him.

He was sick in the head.

George called Westley personally. I was standing in the room when the call came.

“Your little princess got poisoned,” George said through the speaker, sounding amused. “But don’t worry. I’ve got the antidote.”

Westley’s voice was calm. “What do you want?”

George laughed. “Send me Amelia. Your famous bodyguard. I’ll keep her for a month. When the month ends you get the antidote.”

The room went silent.

Everybody knew what that meant. Not a single person who entered George Vale’s estate ever walked out whole.

I looked at Westley.

Just one word, I thought. Just say no. Just once.

“I’ll pick her up in a month,” he said coldly.

That was it. No hesitation. No argument. Just one sentence.

…

That month was the darkest time of my life. George didn’t even touch me the way people expected. Turns out he couldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying the sound of people breaking.

The first week he strapped me to a chair and slowly crushed my fingers one by one with a metal press used for cracking bones. Not enough to destroy them completely. Just enough to hear them crack.

“You’re famous, Amelia,” he said, leaning close. “I expected you to scream louder.”

“I’m not in the mood to entertain you,” I muttered through blood in my mouth.

He laughed like I told a joke.

Another day he locked me in a freezer room used for storing meat. No coat. No shoes. Just a thin shirt and the cold chewing into my skin for hours until my body stopped shaking and started going numb.

He came in sometimes just to watch.

“Still alive?” he asked casually one night.

“Unfortunately for you,” I whispered.

He grinned and slammed the door again.

But the worst day was near the end.

They tied my arms down and forced my hands into a bucket filled with acid diluted just enough not to melt everything instantly.

I remember the smell first.

Then the pain.

It felt like my bones were burning inside my skin. I bit down so hard I cracked one of my teeth.

George crouched in front of me, fascinated.

“Say it hurts,” he said. “Just once. That’s all I want.”

I didn’t say a word.

By the time they pulled my hands out, strips of skin were gone and my knuckles looked like something dragged out of a horror movie.

I woke up later staring at my fingers wrapped in dirty bandages. I could still see patches of white bone underneath.

The night before they sent me back, George grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.

“You know what I find funny?” he said softly. “Westley Grimshaw traded his most loyal bodyguard for a girl. That must be some serious love.”

He tilted his head, smiling like a devil.

“Tell me something, Amelia. How much does he love that sister of yours?”

I stayed silent.

What was I supposed to say?

That the man I loved sold me like damaged property?

That every scream I swallowed in that place was because of him?

By the time the month ended, something inside me had already died.

The fire I carried for 11 years slowly went out in that house.

Westley owned my life. I signed that deal long ago. My loyalty, my body, everything. I was just a weapon in his hands.

Weapons don’t get choices.

Unless they break.

Unless they die.

That was when the idea of faking my death first started forming in my head.

When George’s men dumped me back at Westley’s mansion, the sun was already going down. My body felt like broken glass and every step hurt.

But the moment I stepped inside the gate, Natalia was already waiting.

She stood there with several maids around her, wearing a pale yellow dress that probably cost more than my entire life. She looked beautiful. Untouched. Safe.

She smiled when she saw me.

“Sister,” she said sweetly. “You’re finally back.”

Her eyes moved slowly over my body. My bandaged hands. The dried blood on my clothes.

“You must’ve worked really hard for my antidote,” she continued softly. “A whole month with George Vale… that sounds awful.”

I said nothing.

She covered her mouth like she was thinking. “But you know… people say he likes to play with his victims before killing them. I wonder what he did to you.”

One of the maids beside her laughed quietly.

Natalia sighed like she suddenly remembered something.

“Oh right. You must be filthy.”

She clapped her hands lightly.

“Girls, help my sister clean up. She smells like a slaughterhouse.”

Before I could react, one of the maids threw a bucket of boiling water straight at me.

The water hit my chest and shoulders and burned through my skin instantly.

My body jerked but I didn’t move.

Did it hurt?

Of course it did.

But compared to the acid eating through my hands while George watched… this felt like nothing.

Natalia watched quietly for a moment. My clothes were soaked and my skin was turning red and blistered.

“You’re not even reacting?” she said with a small pout. “That’s boring.” She stepped closer and tilted her head, studying me. “Well,” she said with a bright smile, “I guess you’re clean now.”

Then she waved toward the mansion.

“Come inside, Amelia. Don’t just stand there like a stray dog.”

…

I dragged my broken body back to the small backyard behind the mansion. That place had always been mine. Quiet, hidden, far from the rest of Westley’s world. My legs felt like they were made of glass and every step hurt.

I swallowed the fake death pill before I pushed the door open and leaned against the wall for a moment. My clothes were still wet from the boiling water and my hands burned under the bandages. I started pulling off my jacket so I could clean the wounds.

The door suddenly opened again.

I froze.

Westley stood there in the doorway, the light from the hallway behind him. Tall, sharp, perfectly dressed like always. Black suit, expensive watch, calm face like nothing in the world could shake him.

Eleven years.

And stupidly, my heart still reacted when I saw him.

What was wrong with me?

“You’re back,” he said and walked inside like he owned the air in the room.

Of course he did.

His eyes moved over my body quickly. The torn clothes. The blood. The burns.

“Turn around,” he said. “Let me see your injuries.”

I didn’t argue. I slowly turned my back to him.

My shirt slid down enough to reveal the mess George left on my body. Cuts, bruises, deep scars that still hadn’t healed.

Westley stepped closer and I felt his fingers lightly touch a long scar across my back.

His voice lowered. “What did this?”

“George’s whip,” I answered quietly. “Steel wire inside it.”

His fingers moved to another mark on my shoulder. A round scar.

“And this?”

“Branding iron.”

He paused for a second.

Then his hand moved again, stopping at the fresh burn across my shoulder and neck. The skin there was still red and blistered.

His voice changed slightly. “What about this one?”

“Natalia had someone throw boiling water on me,” I said calmly.

His hand stopped moving.

“What did you say?”

I turned my head slightly so I could look at him. “I said Natalia told a maid to pour boiling water on me,” I repeated. “Said I was dirty.”

For a moment the room went completely silent.

Then his face turned cold.

“You expect me to believe that?” he said quietly.

My chest tightened. “I’m just telling you what happened.”

He laughed once but there was no humor in it.

“Natalia?” he said. “The girl who cries if a stray cat gets hurt? The girl who begged me all day not to let you go to George Vale’s place because she was scared something would happen to you?” His voice hardened. “I heard she locked herself in her room and cried the entire time you were gone. She kept saying she wished she could take your place.” He looked straight at me then. “And now you’re telling me she threw boiling water at you?”

My throat felt dry. “I’m not lying.”

“When did you start lying to me, Amelia?” Westley’s eyes went darker.

“I didn’t,” I said quietly. “I never lied to you.”

He stared at me for another second like he was trying to see through my skull. Then suddenly he shoved me hard.

“Still arguing!” he snapped.

I stumbled back and almost fell.

“Guards!” he called sharply. Two men rushed into the backyard immediately. “Twenty lashes,” Westley said without even looking at me. “Right here.”

The guards hesitated for half a second. Nobody liked punishing me. They all knew I was the one who usually protected them.

But Westley’s orders were absolute.

They grabbed my arms and forced me onto the wooden bench in the backyard. I didn’t fight. What was the point?

The first lash came down across my back. Pain exploded through my body and tore open skin that hadn’t even healed yet.

Westley stood a few steps away watching.

Cold. Unmoved.

“This is a warning,” he said calmly. “Anyone who dares speak badly about Natalia will be punished the same way.”

The second strike came.

Then the third.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and my vision started to blur but memories kept flashing through my head.

The first time I killed someone was when I was fifteen. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t even hold the knife steady.

Westley had pulled me into his arms that night.

“Hey,” he said softly back then. “Look at me. It’s alright.”

“I was scared,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said and gently touched my head. “But you’re not alone. I’m here.”

Now he was the one standing there while someone tore my back apart.

Fourth strike.

Fifth.

By the time they reached twenty my entire back felt like it was on fire. Blood soaked through my shirt and dripped onto the stone floor.

The guards stepped away slowly and everything went black.

Somewhere far away I heard voices.

The doctor's shaky voice spoke first. “Mr. Grimshaw… her pulse is extremely weak. I’m afraid she might not have much time left.”

Something shattered loudly.

Glass hitting the floor.

“What did you just say?” Westley’s voice sounded colder than ice.

The doctor sounded terrified now. “I’m sorry sir but her body is already failing. The injuries are severe and her heartbeat is fading.”

“Get out,” Westley snapped.

The footsteps rushed away quickly.

The room went quiet after everyone left. A few seconds later the curtain around the bed was suddenly pulled aside.

Westley stood there.

His face was shadowed but I could still see the cold look in his eyes. My hands, the same hands that had held guns and knives for him for eleven years, were lying useless on the blanket.

“You made a blood oath to me,” he said slowly. “Remember that night? You said if anyone ever hurt you, I’d make them regret being born.”

His voice dropped lower.

“So explain something to me, Amelia. When did you learn to work with doctors to fake a dying act like this?”

I didn’t answer.

I just closed my eyes.

For a moment the room stayed silent. Then I felt the air around him change.

“You’re not even going to explain?” he said sharply. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for this?”

Still nothing from me.

His footsteps moved closer to the bed.

“You’ve been acting strange for a while,” he continued coldly. “But this… pretending to die just to get attention? I didn’t think you’d sink that low.”

My chest rose slowly.

I still didn’t speak.

That seemed to make him even angrier.

“Fine,” he said suddenly.

His voice turned completely cold.

“Throw away all her medicine. Every bottle. Every bandage.”

Someone outside hesitated. “Mr. Grimshaw…”

“Did you not fucking hear me?!” he snapped. “Since she loves pretending so much, let her deal with it herself.”

A moment later I heard the cabinet being opened and everything being thrown into a trash bag.

Then the door slammed shut behind him.

The sound echoed through the quiet room.

I lay there on the bed staring at the ceiling. The wounds on my back burned like fire under my skin.

Pain had become normal a long time ago.

Just like the way he hurt me again and again.

As the night got deeper the pain got worse. My body started shaking and cold sweat soaked the sheets. I bit the corner of the blanket to stop myself from making any noise.

Somewhere in the middle of the night my mind drifted back to years ago.

The first time I got badly injured on a mission.

I had been stabbed and almost bled out.

Westley stayed beside my bed for three days back then. Three days without leaving. He even changed the bandages himself.

I still remembered the look in his eyes.

It looked like he was in pain.

Like it hurt him to see me hurt.

Stupid me.

I thought it meant something.

I thought maybe… maybe he cared.

...

Morning finally came and the pain eased a little. I had just closed my eyes when someone knocked on the door.

The butler’s voice came from outside.

“Miss Meadow, Mr. Grimshaw ordered you to come to the main hall immediately. You’re going with him to fulfill a promise.”

I slowly pushed myself up.

It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into my back. My hands shook as I wrapped new bandages around the wounds and pulled on a plain black dress.

By the time I walked into the main hall, Westley was already there.

He was wearing a dark tailored coat and standing close to Natalia. He was tying a soft scarf around her neck carefully like she might break if the wind touched her.

Natalia wore a light pink dress and looked bright and delicate.

Next to her I probably looked like something dragged out of a war zone.

“You’re here,” Westley said without even lifting his head.

His voice sounded bored.

“You’re responsible for Natalia’s safety today. Stay close and do your job.”

Finally he glanced at me.

“And Amelia,” he added coldly, “if anything happens to her… you won’t like the consequences.”

I lowered my eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

The cars were already waiting outside.

Westley helped Natalia into the back seat of the black Rolls Royce. I got on a motorcycle with the other guards and followed behind.

The road out of the city was quiet.

Halfway there the sky suddenly opened up and heavy rain started pouring down. Within minutes my clothes were soaked. Water ran down my back and slipped into the bandages, making the wounds sting again.

I could feel warm blood slowly running down my spine.

Natalia lifted the car window halfway and peeked outside.

She looked at me riding in the rain for a moment.

“Westley,” she said softly, “Amelia looks terrible. She’s injured and the rain is pouring like this. Should we let her sit inside the car for a while? Or at least give her an umbrella?”

For half a second I almost laughed.

Westley didn’t even turn his head.

“She’s a bodyguard,” he said calmly. “She’ll be fine.”

That was it. Natalia’s lips curved slightly before she hid the smile.

I tightened my grip on the handle and kept riding.

Right.

Just a bodyguard. Just a weapon he could throw away whenever he wanted. Even if I died tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t lose sleep over it.