Chap­ter 14: Rhys had been bat­tling an unre­lent­ing storm of emo­tions for weeks, each day heav­ier than the last. Since Brid­get announced her plan to move back to Eldor­ra, an invis­i­ble wall had built itself between them, grow­ing stronger with every pass­ing moment. He had always known their time togeth­er was tem­po­rary, but fac­ing the real­i­ty of their impend­ing sep­a­ra­tion sharp­ened every feel­ing into some­thing raw and almost unbear­able. As a pro­fes­sion­al, Rhys remind­ed him­self he was still on duty, assigned to pro­tect her for a few more weeks. How­ev­er, that didn’t stop his resent­ment and heartache from build­ing each time he thought about the life Brid­get would soon return to—one he would no longer be a part of.

Inside the puls­ing VIP room of Bor­gia, a high-end night­club in Man­hat­tan, Rhys fought a los­ing bat­tle with his tem­per. Watch­ing Brid­get dance with Vin­cent Hauz, a man whose rep­u­ta­tion was as filthy as his inten­tions, was unbear­able. Every laugh she gave, every touch she allowed, cut deep­er than he want­ed to admit. Brid­get, stun­ning in a shim­mer­ing sil­ver dress and flushed from too many drinks, was not her­self tonight. She car­ried a reck­less wild­ness that con­cerned Rhys more than the sug­ges­tive moves of the man she danced with. Every fiber of his being screamed to inter­vene, to pro­tect her not just from Vin­cent, but from her­self. When Vin­cen­t’s hand strayed low­er than Rhys could tol­er­ate, his instincts explod­ed into action, pulling him away from pro­fes­sion­al­ism into some­thing more pri­mal and deeply per­son­al.

Bridget’s drunk­en defi­ance only fueled his anger. Her sharp words and insis­tence on inde­pen­dence clashed with his over­whelm­ing need to shield her. Though Rhys knew he was hired mus­cle, noth­ing about the way he felt for her had remained pro­fes­sion­al. His desire to pro­tect her was no longer contractual—it was vis­cer­al. Watch­ing Brid­get lean into Vin­cent, see­ing her so vul­ner­a­ble in a pub­lic set­ting, pushed Rhys beyond his lim­its. His warn­ing to Vin­cent was no idle threat; it was a bare­ly con­tained promise of vio­lence should he dare cross the line again. Vincent’s retreat only par­tial­ly soothed Rhys’s rage, leav­ing him to deal with the fury Brid­get now direct­ed at him.

Their con­fronta­tion out­side the club was explo­sive. Brid­get hurled accu­sa­tions, insist­ing she was mak­ing her own choic­es and didn’t need sav­ing. Rhys, grap­pling with emo­tions he had buried under lay­ers of duty and restraint, final­ly cracked. He couldn’t stand the idea of her risk­ing her­self out of some need to rebel against expec­ta­tions. The night spi­raled as he issued her an ulti­ma­tum: leave with him will­ing­ly or face the con­se­quences. Brid­get, stub­born and hurt, chal­lenged him, push­ing every but­ton he had. When she dared him with her touch, dar­ing him to show her the feel­ings she accused him of hid­ing, Rhys lost the last shred of his con­trol.

Their phys­i­cal clash was not about ten­der­ness; it was the man­i­fes­ta­tion of two years’ worth of ten­sion, desire, and frus­tra­tion com­bust­ing in one reck­less moment. Rhys had spent every day try­ing to pre­tend he didn’t want her, didn’t crave her, but tonight shred­ded that lie to pieces. Bridget’s fear­less defi­ance met the inten­si­ty of Rhys’s long-repressed need, cre­at­ing a volatile col­li­sion nei­ther of them could stop. He knew that giv­ing in would change every­thing, but right then, he didn’t care. For Rhys, touch­ing her, claim­ing her, pun­ish­ing her defi­ance wasn’t just about lust—it was about every sleep­less night he’d spent want­i­ng what he could nev­er have. Brid­get was­n’t a pass­ing attrac­tion. She had become his obses­sion, his Achilles’ heel, the one thing capa­ble of break­ing the armor he had spent a life­time build­ing.

Despite the raw heat between them, a part of Rhys remained painful­ly aware of the lines they were cross­ing. The real­i­ty of their circumstances—her future as roy­al­ty, his posi­tion as her bodyguard—loomed like a sword over their heads. Yet even know­ing the inevitable fall­out, nei­ther of them backed down. They stood on a precipice, dri­ven by anger, pain, and the over­whelm­ing pull that had exist­ed between them from the start. In this moment, there were no titles, no responsibilities—just two peo­ple drown­ing in every­thing they had tried to deny. Their reck­less pas­sion wasn’t just about sex; it was an act of rebel­lion against the fate that had already been writ­ten for them.

As the night unrav­eled fur­ther, Brid­get and Rhys faced the inevitable truth: what­ev­er future they imag­ined sep­a­rate­ly was now for­ev­er entan­gled. The choic­es they made in the heat of the moment would have con­se­quences nei­ther could yet pre­dict. But for now, con­se­quences could wait. The storm inside them demand­ed to be unleashed, and for once, Rhys was ready to sur­ren­der to it, even if it destroyed them both. In a world where duty always won, tonight they chose to let desire reign—no mat­ter the cost.