"Well, well—look who finally decided to show up. Marcus Holivan's own son," Mr. Vilis said over dinner.
"Dad, stop," Kristina cut in quickly, shooting me an apologetic look.
Today I was carrying out my duties as a personal bodyguard to the letter, so I stood by the dining room entrance in my new suit, alongside Robert and the Vilis family guards.
"And how exactly am I supposed to ignore that?" her father went on. "The man won't even acknowledge me at receptions. His secretary refuses to put me through every single time I call. And now what do I see? Marcus Holivan's son—standing there, waiting on my daughter."
"First of all, Alan is my personal bodyguard," Clyde said calmly, adding salad to his plate, "and second, he cut ties with his family the moment he entered the academy as an elite student. So taking your frustration with his father out on him is pointless."
"What difference does it make whether he's yours or Kristina's?" Mr. Vilis scoffed. "He's a servant. Nothing more."
"It makes a difference."
"Not to me. But damn if this isn't satisfying."
I listened in silence. A bodyguard had no right to speak unless addressed. If anything, I was grateful—they talked about me like I wasn't even there, and that meant I didn't have to answer.
"Hey, Holivan—have them bring more wine," Mr. Vilis called out after a while, already tipsy.
"I'm sorry, but I can't leave my post without my employer's permission," I replied evenly.
"Oh? So you've even learned to speak properly?" he laughed. "If only your father could see you now. Actually…" He paused, then grinned. "That's not a bad idea. This might finally get that arrogant oil tycoon to notice me."
"Dad, what are you—" Kristina started, alarmed, but he had already pulled out his phone and silenced her with a raised hand.
"Lewis, call the Holivan residence directly. Tell him I want to discuss business. And yes—make sure to mention his younger son is standing right next to me."
"Dad!" Kristina snapped. "How could you? Have you even thought about what this means for Alan?"
"He renounced his family, didn't he?" Mr. Vilis shrugged. "Then why should I care about some stray special's problems?"
I frowned. This could turn ugly fast. If I ended up face to face with Marcus Holivan… Considering Theodor had been cast out because of me, Marcus wouldn't just be angry—he'd be furious. And knowing him, he wouldn't come just to talk.
I was still trying to think of a way out when a chair scraped sharply against the floor and Clyde stood up.
"In that case, I'd rather spend the night at a hotel," he said coldly.
"What are you saying, my boy?" Kristina's mother spoke up for the first time. "You know our home is always open to you! You and Kristina have been inseparable since childhood!"
"I'd rather avoid any… unforeseen complications on the eve of the exhibition bouts," Clyde replied with a slight bow. "A quiet evening at a hotel would be preferable. I wouldn't want to distract you from your business."
"So you're not entirely confident in your chosen protector after all?" Mr. Vilis smirked. "There are plenty of rumors about how he got that position so quickly. Judging by your concern, maybe they're not baseless."
His phone rang. He answered, listened for a few seconds, and his expression darkened.
"That brat turned out to be even more useless than I thought. You can stay, Clyde. Marcus says he only has one son—and he's currently abroad. Damn it. I thought this would finally work."
"I don't think I'll stay after all," Clyde said. "Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Vilis… Mr. Vilis." He gave a brief nod and stepped away from the table. "Alan. Let's go."
"Wait!" Kristina rushed after us. "I'm sorry, Clyde—I didn't think—"
"It's fine. I expected something like this. I'll see you at the stadium." He waved her off as we headed for the exit.
"I'm sorry," I muttered once we were outside.
"For what?"
"I never really thought about how my… appointment… would affect you."
"I don't give a damn what they're saying now," he replied. "I care about what they'll say after."
I didn't share his confidence. Yes, I'd gotten stronger—but would it be enough to fix what I'd already set in motion? Silius had saved me, protected me—and what had I done in return? Complained. Blamed him. Snapped at him every chance I got.
No. I had to restore his reputation.
And the only way to do that was to win the exhibition bouts.
We rode to the hotel in silence. I didn't object to sharing a room—I knew I was supposed to stay by Silius at all times—but…
"Why is there only one bed?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Because we didn't book in advance, and this was all that was left," he said flatly. "Got a problem? You can sleep on the floor."
And this was the man I wanted to repay? He was unbearable. Seriously—why him? Why did I have to run into him that first day in the dining hall? I should've just stayed invisible in some corner—another nobody no one ever noticed.
I froze without realizing it, staring at him. Lean build, pale skin catching the dim glow of the bedside lamp—it almost seemed to shine, like fresh snow under a streetlight.
"Like what you see?" he smirked, folding his trousers over a chair.
"Sorry," I muttered, turning away. What the hell is wrong with me?
"Planning to sleep in your suit?" he asked, slipping under the blanket.
"I don't want to wrinkle it," I said, taking off my jacket and glancing at the rug.
"Just so you know—there's only one blanket. And if you take the floor, you're not getting the pillow either."
I sighed, changed quickly, and climbed under the blanket.
"Good night," I said, turning away—though sleep was nowhere close.
"Did you know your father sent a whole squad of specials to Kristina's house?" he asked about twenty minutes later.
"Is she okay? And Robert?" I shot upright, turning to him.
"They were after you. It ended before it even started."
"How do you—what, telepa—"
"I planted a bug under the table." He pulled a tiny earpiece from his ear. At that exact moment, both our phones vibrated.
I opened the message.
That arrogant bastard saved your ass again. Some thugs came for you. Stay sharp.
"Robert just texted. Said there were thugs," I said, setting the phone aside.
"Kristina confirmed it," Silius replied, putting his own phone down. "Get some sleep."
Then he reached out, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me closer.
"Hey—what are you—"
"Shh," he murmured against my ear. "You're warm. I'm freezing. Just be a good boy and go to sleep. I won't do anything."
I lay there, listening to Clyde's steady breathing behind me, feeling his firm, cool arms around me—and still couldn't fall asleep for hours.
He really didn't do anything.
So why did it still feel… wrong?