Hostage to you | B.E

27 image

PSA i posted double today
Billie's pov:

They kept saying image.

That word. That cold, manufactured, nothing-of-a-word that people like to toss at me when they're trying to sound like they're helping, when really they just mean compliance.

Three suits. One room. One clipboard too many.

They smiled at me like they knew better.

"She seems... close to you," one of them said.

I didn't respond. Just tilted my head and let them keep digging their own grave.

"Is it serious?"
"Is this going to be ongoing?"
"Is she—how do we put this—distracting you from the bigger picture?"

They kept dancing around it, and all I could think was:
You mean Raven? My bodyguard who has literally taken hits for me?
My not-girlfriend who has no clue she already owns me?
You mean the one thing in this entire machine I didn't buy, didn't hire, didn't control—and can't stop thinking about?

Yeah. Real distracting.

I left before I said something permanent. Told Mitch I needed air, ignored the five missed calls from my publicist, and went straight back to the suite. Raven wasn't there yet. I knew she would be soon—she's always watching, always calculating the edges of the room before she even walks through it. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel seen. And that's the problem.

Because I don't just feel safe with her.

I feel dangerous.
Like I'd tear up contracts for her. Burn bridges. Make enemies.

And I think I might like that.

"We need to make a change," one of them said. Calm. Like it wasn't personal.

Except it was. It always is.

"The nature of your relationship with Raven has become... visibly close. Intimate, even."

He said intimate like it was a brand risk. Like it was an infection.

"We're not suggesting she's done anything wrong," the other added. "This is just a rotation. A professional reset. You'll have new security starting Monday."

They looked at me like they expected me to nod. To agree. To say yes, thank you for reminding me what's best for me.

I smiled instead.

"You mean Raven?" I said quietly.

The room paused.

I leaned back in the chair, crossed one ankle over my knee, kept my voice light.

"You mean my former-bodyguard," I repeated, slow and sharp, like I wanted the word to stick in their teeth. "The one who has literally taken hits for me. The one who can read a crowd before I do. The one who knows when to pull me back, when to let me lead, when I need to disappear without asking why."

Clipboard Guy opened his mouth, but I didn't let him speak.

"You mean my girlfriend," I said, smiling just a little. "The one who has no clue she already owns me."

I let that land. Watched them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"You're talking about the one person in this entire machine I didn't buy, didn't brand, didn't audition. The one I didn't have to rehearse trust with. The one I can't stop thinking about."

None of them said a word.

Which was good, because I wasn't done.

"I understand that the security team has to change," I said. "I get it. Lines blurred. It's protocol. Fine."