The soft hiss of the stovetop filled the quiet flat.

Charlie stirred gently the simmering Alfredo sauce, watching as it bubbled in the saucepan. The scent of cheese-like filled the air—simple, warm, and go-to comfort dinner. She'd already cooked the chicken pieces and the spaghetti on other pans and set a small table for one by the window, a glass of water next to the napkin.

The final stretch of her thesis had been eating up her days. She'd managed to draft another half—almost there. Just a bit more polishing and it would be ready to submit.

After she finished stirring and turned off the stove, she adjusted the hem of the oversized forest green t-shirt she was wearing. John's military shirt. It swallowed her frame, the sleeves nearly slipping over her shoulders with a bra-strip known.

She'd paired it with a pair of soft black cotton shorts and her fuzzy socks—the cream-colored ones she always wore on cold evenings. Her blonde hair was gathered in a messy ponytail, strands escaping and brushing against her cheek. She combined the chicken with the spaghetti sauce, mixing them in the pans.

Serving herself, she picked up a fork and settled down on the table, tucking one leg under her. The first taste prompted a quiet hum of satisfaction. She hadn't realized just how hungry she had been, and her phone buzzed near her.

At first, she didn't think much of it—probably Hailey checking in. But when she glanced at the screen, her stomach flipped.

Mum

The phone buzzed again, the screen bright. She stared at it, her fingers tightening around her fork.

Part of her wanted to let it go to voicemail. To protect her peace. But another part—the heavier part—knew she couldn't keep dodging these calls. She swiped to answer and put it on speaker.

"Hello?" her voice was soft, cautious.

"Charlie," Kate said, her voice came through, calm but distant. There was always that edge in her tone—a blend of maternal warmth and professional control. She never quite sounded just like a mum.

There was a pause. For a second, Charlie thought maybe the line had dropped.

Then—

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No. Just dinner."

Another pause. Charlie could hear a faint echo of voices in the background—probably a TV running.

"I wanted to check in," Kate said.

Charlie closed her eyes. She'd expected this. The inevitable check-in that wasn't really about her well-being, but about John.

"I'm okay."

"I'm going to be leaving tomorrow and head back to Virginia. You've been busy with school and work?"

"Yeah. It's almost done. I haven't submitted my thesis yet."

"I figured," Kate said, her tone neutral. "The university has contacted me, saying that you're doing good and your grades are good. But, you've been distant at times throughout classes."

Her grip tightened on her fork.

There it was—the reminder that Kate had to pull with the university, still kept tabs on her. Even when Charlie hadn't asked for it.

"I wasn't aware they were supposed to get into my business," Charlie said, keeping her tone normal.

"You know why I keep an eye on you," Kate said. "Because when you stop communicating, I have to make sure you're safe."

Charlie almost frowned. "I'm fine, Mum."

"Are you? Because what I've heard suggests otherwise."

Charlie went stiff. "I don't know what you think you've heard—"

"I know you've been living with John, and you didn't tell me about that," Kate didn't mince words. "You know, I work with Task Forces and John is one of them. His crew, any of them, has to answer my question, whether they like it or not. There will be consequences, and if they don't answer or if they lie to me. I will make this ugly to them. But, I don't want to do this to any of them, including us."

Charlie exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I'm not going to explain myself."

"You don't have to. I already know more than you think," Kate said. "I heard what happened, Charlotte. You think you can handle this? You think you know him?"

Her heart jumped. "Don't do this."

"You're young," Kate continued carefully. "And you don't know what you're stepping into. It's not his job, Charlotte. It's him."

She bit her bottom lip. Her eyebrows knitted too.

"I know who he is."

"No, you don't." Kate talked back. Her tone dropped—quiet but hard. "You think the man who holds your hand, would tell you everything? The man who calls you sweetheart and love? Charlotte, there are parts of him he'll never show you because he's afraid of what you'll think of him. God forbid, if you think he's a hero, you're wrong. You're my daughter, and it's my job to make sure your life is settled and you're better off with somebody else, than him."

Charlie gritted her teeth, mouth closed.

She dropped her fork and sat up quick, the chair behind her screeched as she switched from speaker to a phone call. She could feel her temper flare, a hot rush flooding her veins. She clutched the phone tighter, knuckles going white.

"You don't get to decide who I'm with," she said, voice low but trembling with anger. "I'm not a child for you to control anymore!"

"I'm not trying to control you, Charlie," Kate said, now in defiance, almost like she wished she could treat her like a child still. "I don't want you—"

"Don't want what?" Charlie cut her off. "Of actually being happy? Of finding someone who sees me as more than just an average girl who wonders everyday of when will her mother come back and see her child? I wish you could move down to Kentucky and live near Aunt Alice and me, instead of staying in for a week or two or during summer for a visit. We could've time spent together as mother and daughter instead of you choosing your field over me. It's like you don't care about me!"

The line became quiet and Kate almost gasp.

"What?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I know that, but why on earth do you think I don't care about you?"

"Because all you do is control me—you scare away boys and my friends, and you make Uncle James interrogate them whenever they come over to hang out. Seriously?"

"I do it because I love you."

"Yeah? Well, it sure doesn't look like it because you're never around, and you don't know the things I went through, mentally."

Her words stung Kate like a slap. She heard her drew in a sharp breath, momentarily at a loss.

"Charlotte, I..." she paused, gathering herself. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way. You're right—I haven't been there for you like I should. I thought keeping my distance would help keep you safe, but I was wrong. Work always came first for me, even when it meant missing so much of your childhood. I thought I was doing the right thing, securing your future, but...I see now the damage it's caused between us."

Charlie listened silently, eyes burning.

"It's just—the truth is, after your father died, I was broken. Being a mother, letting myself love you like I should—it terrified me. So I buried myself in work instead. But that wasn't fair to you. Either way, I'm still your mother. And I've worked with men like John for decades. I know what he's capable of. And I know what he does behind closed doors. There are lines he had to cross... a decisions he had to make no others can't do. You have to understand this."

Charlie blinked back the sudden sting of tears. "He protects me."

"For now."

That cold, quiet reply sent a chill up her spine.

"I'm not leaving him," Charlie whispered, voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

Kate was quiet. The silence stretched so long that Charlie almost thought she'd hung up until she sighed.

"I thought you might say that," Kate said quietly.

Charlie closed her eyes, allowing a tear to fall slowly from her eye. "Then why call? Why can't you come over and see me before you leave?"

She waited for her reply, the silence on the line felt deafening.

"I wanted to try one last time to make you see reason," Kate answered, her tone strained.

She swallowed and let out a shaky exhale, gripping the phone tight.

"I know I haven't been a perfect mother," Kate continued. "And coming to see you would make things harder because I'm worried about you."

Her heart sank as her words echoed.

"When you were a baby, I promised myself that I would always protect you, no matter what. It doesn't matter that you're growing up to be a woman; you'll always be my child. I never imagined becoming a mother, especially since your father and I had a history from working together wherever he was stationed. I didn't expect us to become this close until I was pregnant with you. You became my responsibility.

"The last thing I want is to receive a phone call telling me that my daughter has been killed in action, in an accident, or kidnapped and harmed by insurgents."

Charlie was silent on the other end of the line.

Despite her anger, she couldn't deny the truth in her mother. Kate had sacrificed so much for her—given up the closeness most mothers share with their daughters in order to protect the country and people who live in every soil from threats. And yet, Charlie also knew that she couldn't continue living in the bubble her mother had created. She was an adult now, free to make her own choices...even if they were risky.

"I'm not a child anymore," Charlie said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can make my own choices."

"Can you?" Kate responded, a hint of sadness in her tone.

"I can't do that if I'm always under your wings, Mum," Charlie finally said softly.

"Please, Charlotte. Don't do this."

She could almost feel her mother's tension through the phone. Charlie bit her lip, this time harder.

"I won't leave him. Why when everything in my mind and heart says that this one is the one I want to be with?"

Kate was quiet for a long moment. Charlie could sense her struggling to let go, to accept that her child was now old enough to make these choices without her.

"I love him," Charlie said, her voice quivering as she sniffled. "I don't care what you think, Mum. I love him for who he is and for the man that he is."

Kate cleared her throat.

"Fine," she conceded, there was resignation in her tone. "If you stay with him, then you better be ready because when things get worse—and they will—don't you dare say I didn't warn you."

Her chest tightened. "I'm not running."

"I know you won't but if John hurts you—I'll come for him myself. Until then, you will always have a home with me and Jennifer or my sister."

While Charlie understood her mother's worry, she knew John was different. He wouldn't hurt her; beneath his tough facade was a man who was cautious, mindful, and holds authority with much care.

She recalled the day they first met in the park and began getting to know each other, all throughout the time they spent.

She never imagined she'd be drawn to someone way older like him, especially since their personalities were so different. Yet, she couldn't deny finding him attractive. When Harkin showed up, John could have just walked away, but he chose to stay by her side and invited her to move in with him when issues arose. With him, she found a sense of security she hadn't felt since her father had passed away.

Over a month they'd spent together since, she'd come to know him—who wouldn't mind lending her a hand and checking in to make sure she's safe. He wasn't afraid to show his affection through small gestures and touches, even if he struggled to express it in words.

She knew their relationship baffled her mother, Charlie also sensed Kate was grieving the loss of her only daughter in her own way.

As much as it pained her, she just prayed her mother would see that John was nothing like the heartless men she'd encountered in her work.

"I'm not leaving him," Charlie repeated, she felt a lump form in her throat.

"I know you're not. I'm just preparing you for what's coming next," Kate said, her tone changed into cold and heavy. "There are things about John you will learn the more you're with him. You'll understand why I tried to stop you."

"What... do you mean?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?" She frowned.

"Because it's no use and you won't listen. I'm not going to waste my breath," Kate said it straight. "It's best that you'll see it yourself."

"Why the hell would you say that?!"

"Don't use that tone with me, Charlotte Grace," Kate warned her. "Listen and take it to heart."

She closed her eyes, swallowing back the emotions threatening to rise.

"He's not as bad as you think he is," she said it firmly.

Kate was silent again. Then, in a final, solemn voice—

"Then I hope he changes your mind when you find out soon, Charlotte. Goodnight."

And before Charlie could say another word, the line disconnected. She stared at the phone in her hand.

For a long, breathless moment, she felt like the ground beneath her had shifted. Like something unseen was moving just beyond her reach. But then she exhaled slowly. Her chest tightened until it almost hurt. Then, a sharp, sudden anger surged beneath the sadness. All her life, her mother had done her best. Charlie could never deny that. Kate had provided everything. Food. A roof. School. Her cousins. Even protection in ways most mothers couldn't.

But what Kate had never been good at was the one thing Charlie had wanted most.

A mother.

An emotional mother.

Someone to hold her after bad days.

Someone to call when things felt too heavy.

Someone who would just listen without analyzing or offering cold, strategic advice.

Charlie had spent most of her childhood either alone or living with her cousins while Kate traveled across continents chasing threats and intelligence leaks. She remembered staring out windows waiting for her mum to call. Or write. Or come home. Instead, she'd grown up learning how to take care of herself. How to adapt. How to stay small and unseen and try—always try—to be good enough to make her mother proud.

Now here she was. An adult. And Kate still wanted to control her life. To pull the strings. To tell her who she could love and who she couldn't.

No more, Charlie thought bitterly.

Her vision blurred with sudden tears, and her jaw locked tight as she sat alone in his flat. She remembered that drawer she hadn't meant to snoop before John arrived home with dried blood stain on his knuckles.

A pair of polished metal handcuffs.

A neatly coiled silk rope, midnight blue.

Folded, tucked, and sitting beneath the contents of a man's life—watches, an old mission badges, and a pack of mints. Nothing had been hidden. It had been there, quiet. Waiting.

She had touched it, stared at it.

That burning curiosity, low and stirring in her stomach—had bloomed before.

It should have scared her.

But it didn't.

It made her think of that night—the one where they almost fought. Those words he said about pleasing him, he'd rather take her hand and fulfill her with whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed. And whatever she desired.

She pushed a piece of pasta across her plate.

There was a strange safety in the way he said things like that. A clarity. As if he needed her to know exactly where the line was—and what stepping across it would mean. He wasn't like Harkin or the others she'd known.

John didn't ask. He decided.

She stood up, and her appetite was gone as her mind buzzed. Grabbing the plate of spaghetti with both hands, she marched to the bin, and dumped the whole thing in. The fork clattered loudly against the plate before placing them in the sink.

I'm not letting anyone take him away from me.

Her stomach still twisted in knots, but the tears had dried, replaced with something else. A desperate urge to own her choice. To remind herself that she wanted to do this.

John wasn't some passing infatuation.

She wanted him.

All of him.

The parts she may or may not understand yet, but she was willing to do this. If he was going to trust her with his burdens, his life, then she had to be brave enough to take them.

For him.

Charlie inhaled deeply, wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and turned around to the table from outside the kitchen. She considered clearing it—but stopped. Instead, she grabbed a clean plate, set it neatly at the head seat he always took, and placed a clean fork beside it.

Let him eat when he gets home, she thought. Even if I'm not hungry.

She moved to the hallway closet and pulled out a large, soft blanket—the heavy kind John had gotten for winter. The flat was cool tonight, and she already knew what she wanted to do.

Without thinking much about it, she walked to the bathroom and stripped. First the shorts, then the socks. She pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head and folded it gently, setting it on the counter.

She stood in front of the mirror, naked. She ran hands slowly over her curves, caressing her skin. Her figure had softened in subtle but feminine ways since she'd met John. Her hips seemed rounder, her breasts fuller. It was as if being loved had awakened her physically as well as emotionally.

She thought of his strong arms enveloping her, his rough hands traveling her small body with equal parts hunger and tenderness. A flush rose to her cheeks as she imagined his lips on hers, his beard brushing against her neck as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

Moving to the shower, Charlie turned the knob and stepped under the warm spray. As the water cover all her skin, she closed her eyes and thought of John. She imagined him coming home, exhausted from the day's stresses but lighting up at the sight of her. Imagined them sitting together at the table, talking about everything and nothing at all. She pictured him leading er by the hand to his bedroom, and she slowly undressing him, caressing every scar and tattoo on his rugged body.

Charlie knew they came from such different worlds, that loving him defied reason, but she didn't care.

When she was with John, wrapped in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Stepping from the shower, Charlie toweled off before wrapping herself in the blanket, she padded barefoot back into the living room.

She switched off all the lights, leaving just the kitchen light on to emit a gentle white glow over the small dining area. Charlie grabbed the remote, climbed onto the couch, and curled up beneath the blanket. She began browsing in John's Amazon Prime list without much thought until she paused—scrolling back.

The Bodyguard. A classic movie made in 1992. Romantic. A little dramatic. And fitting.

She hit play.

As the opening credits rolled and Whitney Houston's voice floated through the quiet flat, Charlie nestled deeper into the cushions, her bare legs curled beneath her, the blanket clutched tightly to her chest. She didn't choose this movie by accident—there was something poetic about watching a film where a hardened protector falls in love with the very woman he's meant to guard.

Sound familiar?

Her lips tugged into a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

She waited.

For him.

Naked, clean, and wrapped in nothing but his blanket. She didn't need to prove anything to anyone—not even to herself.

She loved him.

And when he walked through that door.

She hoped he'd know.

She hoped he'd see it in her eyes.

And if he didn't?

Well.

She'd show him.