The finish line was always clear to me. Train. Qualify. Win gold. Repeat.
Until someone started sending threats that made even my coach nervous. "Just get through qualifiers," they told me, right before introducing the last person I wanted shadowing my every move-some ex-military security guy with cold eyes and a jaw that could cut glass.
I didn't have time for distractions. Not with Olympic qualifying weeks away and my equality campaign gaining momentum. But there's something about the way Damon watches me-not the Olympic champion everyone expects, but the woman beneath the medals. The woman who fights twice as hard for half the recognition.
He says he's just doing his job. I say there's more to those lingering glances than security protocols. And when bullets start flying and my face is splashed across tabloids for all the wrong reasons, I'm left wondering which is more dangerous-the threat against my life, or the man who's somehow slipped past every defense I've built.
Damon
I told my brothers this assignment was a mistake. I don't do celebrity protection.
Then I watched Kiana Johnson complete a training session that would break most people, her deep brown skin glistening with sweat, determination radiating from every perfect curve of muscle. Something shifted inside me-recognition of a kindred spirit who understood discipline wasn't just practice but purpose.
I'm supposed to keep professional distance. Focus on security threats, not the way her laugh breaks through my carefully constructed walls. But as danger escalates from hateful messages to physical attacks, I find myself crossing lines I've never crossed for any client.
When our relationship goes public, suddenly we're both targets-her Olympic dreams and my career hanging in the balance. Now I'm facing the hardest choice of my life: step back to protect her from outside threats, or stay close and risk becoming her greatest vulnerability.
Some dangers can't be neutralized with tactical planning. Some risks are worth taking anyway.