Page 41 of Bound to the Bodyguard

Lucy exited the vehicle.

On the drive back to the house, my mind went back through Lucy’s rendition.

Always watching. The same phrase appeared in the letters to Raven. The intent was clear now: The Phantom thrived on inducing paranoia, on being an omnipresent terror.

Watching and waiting, but for what? Every victim is a piece of the puzzle, and puzzles have solutions.

Hours passed as I sat surrounded by files, photos, and transcripts. My eyes were weary from analysis, yet I refused to succumb to fatigue. There was a method to The Phantom’s madness, and I was close to deciphering it.

Creating fear, maintaining distance, evading capture. You’re no random predator, are you? This is calculated. Personal, even.

I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temples. Raven’s the key. But why her? What makes her the centerpiece of your twisted gallery?

The pieces floated around me, taunting me with their elusive significance. Then, a revelation struck—a pattern within the pattern.

Each victim... high-profile, influential. You don’t just want to scare them; you want to shake the very foundations of their world. But Raven... Raven’s different.

I stood abruptly, pacing the room as the thought took root. It’s not just about fear; it’s about sending a message. But what message?

“Raven Fields will never see it coming,” the forum post echoed in my mind. “The Phantom’s work is art.”

Art. My eyes snapped open wide. An artist signs their work, claims it. You don’t want anonymity; you want recognition. But how far are you willing to go for your masterpiece?

Whatever The Phantom’s endgame, it was building toward a crescendo, and Raven was the unwilling muse.

* * *

The next morning, I stood at the stove, the sizzle of bacon breaking the silence. Each strip crackled in rhythmic harmony, a culinary overture to the day ahead. I flipped them expertly, a technique honed from countless solo breakfasts and the discipline of my military past. A rich scent wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee—a dark roast, Raven’s preference.

Perfect. My attention to detail was not just a byproduct of my training; it was an intrinsic part of who I was—calm, controlled, thoughtful. Every action, every decision, carried a weight and purpose.

I glanced outside the window where the sun had just begun its ascent, a golden hue spilling into the room and casting a warm glow on the crisp white tablecloth I had laid out. It was a simple canvas, yet it transformed under the morning light, becoming something almost ethereal.

Today needs to be perfect. I arranged the silverware next to the plates, their polished surfaces reflecting the sunlight. My movements were methodical, each fork and knife aligned with precision that betrayed my underlying need for order amidst the chaos that threatened Raven’s life.

In the center of the table, I placed a vase of fresh flowers—daisies, Raven’s favorite. They were modest yet vibrant, much like her, resilient even in the harshest of conditions. I found myself admiring their beauty and simplicity, qualities that echoed in Raven herself.

Flowers to brighten the day. It wasn’t often that I allowed the barriers I had built to protect myself to lower, but with Raven, it seemed almost natural. She had that effect on people—on me, especially.

Good thing she can’t see me now…the stoic bodyguard getting sentimental over daisies. Yet, there was comfort in these small acts of care, a silent language of affection that needed no words to be understood.

With the table set, I stepped back to survey my handiwork. The plates gleamed white and blue, the cutlery lay in perfect symmetry, and the flowers added a soft splash of color. It was more than just a meal; it was a statement—a moment of peace we could share amid the uncertainty of our world.

Breakfast is all about the start. A good beginning sets the tone for what’s coming.

I hoped today’s breakfast would offer more than sustenance; perhaps it could serve as a bridge, narrowing the gap between Raven and I. After all, every shared smile and exchanged glance wove another thread in the bond that had begun to form between us, a bond I was only just beginning to understand.

I lifted the skillet from the stove, the bacon sizzles tapering off as I slid it onto a paper towel-lined plate to drain. The scent of the savory meat mingled with the sweet aroma of coffee, forming an inviting atmosphere. With practiced motions, I scooped fluffy scrambled eggs from another pan, piling them high beside the crisped slices of bacon. The buttered toast landed next, its edges golden-brown, followed by a colorful assortment of fresh fruit—ruby strawberries, plump blueberries, and vibrant orange slices.

Presentation matters. I arranged the food with meticulous care. I was aware that in my line of work, details could mean the difference between safety and peril. Here, in this moment, they were the unspoken words of comfort and care I hoped would ease her mind.

I placed the plates on the table, each movement silent yet filled with intention. The morning sunlight cast a warm glow on the tablecloth, transforming the simple white fabric into a canvas bathed in gold. It was a breakfast fit for royalty, yet it was not duty that drove me, but something far more complex and personal.

The creak of a door hinge announced her arrival before she stepped into the kitchen. Raven’s presence immediately filled the room, her strong-willed character evident in every stride. But as her eyes fell upon the breakfast spread, a softness replaced her usually guarded expression. Her resilience seemed to take a backseat, allowing a glimpse of vulnerability to surface.

“Jerome, this is... wow,” she breathed out, her voice tinged with genuine appreciation. The corners of her lips curled into a smile that reached her eyes, lighting them up like the first rays of dawn.

“Good morning. I hope you’re hungry.”

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