Protector

Meeting Jackson

I woke up to voices conversating in a low tone. Curious to know what was going on, I was greeted by my father's urgent voice, rousing me from my slumber.

"Sweetie, it's time to get ready," he said, his tone tinged with a sense of urgency that set my heart racing. I glanced at the clock beside my bed, groaning inwardly at the ungodly hour.

With a resigned sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, the cool tiles soothing beneath my feet. As I brushed my teeth and hastily applied some makeup, my mind raced with a million questions, each more daunting than the last.

Once dressed, I made my way to the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. I was ready for some pancakes. My dad knew they were my favorite. 

But as I stepped out of my bedroom and into the living room, my father's words caught me off guard. "Sweetie, you're ready!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat. My gaze flickered to the figure standing beside him, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Jackson

He was everything my father had described and more—tall, with dark hair and sun-kissed skin that spoke of days spent under the open sky. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, met mine with a steady intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

As my father began to introduce us, Jackson stepped forward, extending his hand in a firm handshake. The touch of his skin against mine sent a jolt of electricity coursing through me, leaving me momentarily breathless.

But as quickly as the moment had begun, it was over. Jackson's demeanor shifted, his professional facade slipping into place as he stood before me, silent and imposing. And in that moment, I couldn't help but wonder—was this the man my father expected me to run away with? And if so, how could I ever hope to escape the magnetic pull of his presence?