Chapter 1 The Arrogant Assignment

# Chapter 1: The Arrogant Assignment

The weight of my sidearm pressed against my hip as I approached the sprawling Thorne Estate. I'd been with Sentinel Security for five years, but this assignment came directly from the top brass: "Protect Duke Hayden Thorne from unknown threats." The vague briefing had raised my eyebrows, but orders were orders.

My black uniform—tailored pants, fitted jacket, and sensible boots—felt stiff despite being broken in months ago. Perhaps it was the tension in my shoulders. High-profile clients were always difficult, but the Thornes were practically royalty.

The security detail at the gate scrutinized my credentials before waving me through with professional nods. Spring had painted the estate grounds in vibrant colors, a stark contrast to the stone-faced mansion looming ahead.

"Ms. Lillian Reed?" A woman in her fifties with impeccable posture greeted me at the entrance. "I'm Eliza, the head of household staff. We've been expecting you."

"Thank you," I replied, following her through marble corridors adorned with paintings worth more than my annual salary.

"The Duke is entertaining guests on the west terrace. I should warn you—" Eliza hesitated, her eyes betraying concern, "His Grace can be... challenging."

I'd guarded politicians, celebrities, and crime bosses. "I'm sure we'll manage, ma'am."

We emerged onto a sunlit terrace where crystal glasses clinked and laughter echoed. About a dozen people in designer clothes lounged around, orbiting a tall man at the center like planets around a sun.

Duke Hayden Thorne was younger than I'd expected—early thirties, perhaps—with sharp cheekbones and dark hair swept back from a face that magazines would describe as "aristocratically handsome." His tailored navy suit probably cost more than my apartment.

"Your Grace," Eliza announced quietly. "The security officer has arrived."

The Duke's steel-blue eyes slid over me with such practiced dismissal that I almost admired the technique. Almost.

"This is my protection?" His voice carried just enough to ensure everyone heard. "A woman barely tall enough to see over a steering wheel?"

I kept my expression neutral. Five-foot-seven wasn't exactly short, but next to his six-foot-something frame, I supposed the jab had some merit.

"Lillian Reed, Sentinel Security, Your Grace. I've been assigned as your personal protection officer following the recent threats."

"Threats," he repeated, swirling golden champagne in a crystal flute. "How dramatic."

A blonde woman in a red dress giggled. "Hayden, darling, perhaps she could teach us self-defense. Wouldn't that be thrilling?"

The Duke's mouth curled. "I doubt she could defend a kitten."

I remained still, face impassive. This wasn't my first rodeo with entitled clients.

He stepped closer, invading my space with deliberate intent. "I don't need protection, especially not from someone who looks like they shop at department stores."

The gathered socialites tittered. I caught Eliza's sympathetic glance from the doorway.

"Nevertheless, I've been assigned—"

Without warning, Hayden's hand flicked forward, and cold liquid splashed across my chest. The champagne soaked through my uniform, the expensive alcohol wasted on fabric designed to hide stains.

"Oops." His smile never reached his eyes. "Clumsy me. Now be a good girl and go. I don't need a woman playing bodyguard."

The terrace fell silent. Everyone watched, waiting for my reaction. This was a test—show emotion, and I'd fail. Five years of training kept my expression neutral as I slowly reached for my pocket handkerchief.

"With respect, Your Grace," I said, dabbing at the spreading stain, "your personal feelings are irrelevant. Internal Affairs has ordered protection following the bullet-laden threat letters regarding your yacht party videos." I produced my credentials, including my firearm permit. "I'm not leaving."

His jaw tightened. In one fluid motion, he grabbed my wrist, fingers digging into the bone with surprising strength.

"My affairs," he said, voice dangerously low, "are none of your business."

I could have let it go. Should have, probably. But something in his entitled sneer triggered a response honed through years of combat training. Before he could blink, I'd executed a perfect counter-hold, locking his elbow at an angle that forced him to release me without causing a scene.

"My duty," I replied calmly, "is to keep you alive, whether you like it or not."

The socialites gasped. The Duke's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing with fury.

"You—"

"Sir," Eliza's voice cut through the tension as she appeared beside us. "MP Hale will be arriving in thirty minutes for your meeting."

Something flashed in the Duke's eyes—anger? Fear? It vanished so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Get everyone out," he snapped at Eliza. To his guests: "Party's over. Family business."

The guests dispersed with muttered goodbyes and curious glances. I maintained my position, waiting for further instructions or another test of wills.

Once alone, the Duke turned to me with ice in his gaze. "Let's get something straight. You're here because someone in government is overreacting. You'll stay out of my sight. You'll speak only when spoken to. And if you ever touch me again, you'll be guarding parking lots for the rest of your career."

"I understand boundaries, Your Grace," I replied. "I also understand threats. Someone wants you dead, and my job is to prevent that."

"Fine," he spat. "Eliza will show you to a staff room. And get changed. You smell like a distillery."

After he stormed off, Eliza approached with an apologetic smile. "I'll show you to your quarters. And perhaps find you a clean uniform?"

"Thank you."

As we walked through the east wing, Eliza explained the layout of the mansion, security systems, and staff routines. My room was small but comfortable, with a private bathroom and a window overlooking the rose gardens.

"The Duke's study is down the hall," she said. "He'll be meeting with MP Hale there shortly. Normally, security waits outside."

I nodded, changing into my spare uniform. "I'll need to inspect the study first. Standard procedure."

Eliza hesitated. "He won't like that."

"He doesn't have to."

The study was a testament to old money—leather-bound books, antique furniture, and a massive oak desk facing floor-to-ceiling windows. I checked the windows, doors, and potential hiding spots before turning to leave.

That's when I saw it—a small purple mahogany box sitting on a bookshelf. I wouldn't have noticed except for the intricate carving on its lid: a butterfly with delicate wings spread in flight. My hand unconsciously moved to the back of my neck, where an identical butterfly birthmark had marked me since birth.

I approached slowly, drawn by a strange familiarity I couldn't explain. The box was locked, its brass clasp secure. Why did it feel so important?

"What are you looking at?"

I spun around to find the Duke in the doorway, his gaze sharp as it moved from me to the box and back. Something in his eyes made my skin prickle.

"Just securing the room before your meeting, Your Grace."

His eyes narrowed, tracking my every movement. "That box. Why were you interested in it?"

"The craftsmanship caught my eye. I apologize for the distraction."

He moved closer, his gaze flicking to the back of my neck where my short hair exposed part of the birthmark. "Turn around."

"Excuse me?"

"Turn. Around." Each word precise and cold.

Professional training warred with instinct. I slowly turned, feeling vulnerable with my back to him.

I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Where did you get that mark?"

"I was born with it," I answered, turning back to face him. "Is there a problem?"

His face had lost some color. "Get out. Now."

"Sir, MP Hale will be here—"

"OUT!"

I retreated, closing the door behind me, my mind racing. What about my birthmark had triggered such a reaction? And why did that butterfly box seem so familiar?

As I took position outside the study, one thing became clear—there was more to this assignment than a simple threat assessment. Duke Hayden Thorne had secrets, and somehow, impossibly, they seemed connected to me.