Page 49 of The Bodyguard Situation

Harper doesn’t know about this shitstorm yet, but I will have to tell her. I just hope the cruelty of the world doesn’t crash down around her. It’s a lot to take in at once after what she’s been through.

Last night, lying beside her, I silently promised to give her safety. Now it feels carved in steel. I take a sip of coffee, and my breath steadies enough for me to face the fire, knowing I’m not finished yet. I log in to my secure email and quickly scan the new messages.

One of my informants—one who trades dangerous truths for large sums of money—emailed me.

I click open the message, and dread spreads through my veins at the sight that greets me.

Photos. Emails. Bank transfers. Micah Rhodes is far more than manipulative; he’s corrupt. This may run deeper than any of us really knows, considering the photos clearly show him in back rooms, exchanging briefcases and shaking hands with known criminals.

All the evidence is full of hidden threats, wrapped in polite words—warnings about serious consequences if anyone crosses him. Bank statements show enormous money transfers, clearly revealing paths of bribery and shady deals tied to ruthless players. All information that’s impossible to ignore.

Then one quick message jumps out at me:

If Harper won’t comply willingly, then use force. She will make us a lot of money.

Fury rushes through me, sharpening my focus until it’s just me and the brutal reality of what I need to do next. Micah has turned Harper’s vulnerability into a weapon, publicly using mental warfare after he tried to destroy her.

Like a viper, I will strike back. He got one free pass; he will not get a-fucking-nother one.

Micah Rhodes believes he’s untouchable, protected by power, cash, and lies. He has no idea how far I’m willing to go for Harper, the depths I’ll dive to keep her safe. He’s started a battle without realizing one crucial thing—I’m ready to go to war, and he has no fucking clue what I’m capable of.

I’m still staring at the screen as I click back to the articles. The weight of Micah’s threats makes me want to lose control. I hear the faint creak of floorboards behind me, and before I can shut the laptop, Harper’s voice, soft and sleepy, cuts through the quietness.

“What are you reading?” she asks.

I turn, instinctively blocking her view, but it’s too late—her eyes are already scanning the brutal headlines on the screen. I forgot to close the fucking web browser.

“Oh my God.” Her voice shakes, barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief. She steps back, her hand covering her mouth, fingers trembling. “Is this—are they saying I’m pregnant?”

I quickly close the laptop, but the damage is done. Her eyes, wide and hurt, flicker to mine. Shock floods her face, quickly replaced by confusion, then fear.

“He promised he would make her delete that photo,” she whispers, as if she needs to defend herself. “Brody, I’m on birth control. I’m not pregnant. I swear, I?—”

“Harper—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Micah tried to convince me I was, even when I knew I couldn’t be. He kept saying I was. I’m not. I’mnot.” Her voice rising in panic, she repeats it desperately, as if saying it enough times will make it true.

I stand up quickly, reaching out to steady her, pulling her toward me as her breathing gets shallow.

“Slow down. Breathe, Harp.” I rub my hands up and down her arms, wanting to help calm her.

Her breath catches on a sob. “He told everyone, Brody. Everyone believes him. They think?—”

“Listen to me,” I say, cupping her face in my hands, keeping my gaze steady. “It doesn’t matter what they believe. What matters is the truth. We’ll get a test and figure it out right now. No matter what it says, I won’t let you deal with this alone.”

She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her forehead rests against my chest as she cries soft, broken sobs that shatter my heart with each shaky breath. “I hate him.”

“I know.” I hold her tighter, smoothing my hand over her hair, wishing I could protect her from this pain. “I’ve got you.”

She nods again, still trembling.

We get dressed quickly, our movements robotic. As we step outside into the chilly morning air, her body is tense. I help her into the passenger side of the Charger, closing the door before sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life, then rises to a roar as we hit the empty road toward town.

Harper stares out the window, and she’s distant. The silence between us is uneasy, but I give her space, sensing the storm building inside her. When we finally pull into the pharmacy parking lot, I glance over at her, noticing how her fingers twist nervously in her lap.

“Stay here,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’ll go in.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes meet mine, her vulnerability shining through.

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