𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝟏𝟖+] ✔

24

The first time I ever met Eric Osprey, I'll admit that my sixteen-year-old self melted inside at the young, tattooed, bad boy-looking head of security. I almost felt giddy when Dad informed me that he was assigned as my protection, and that he had to escort me to school, to the dance studio, and to Ainsley's place.

All the urges to glance at him were nearly suppressed by my loyalty to Robbie and the fact he was an arsehole to me from our first meeting, but I still looked.

Come on, if you had a nineteen, nearly twenty-year-old bodyguard who resembled something sculpted from the Gods above, would you not want to sneak a peek every now and again?

Of bloody course you would!

All of my friends were obsessed, always smiled and waved at him while he gave each one of them dirty looks of disgust.

I'd thought, at that point, maybe he had a girlfriend and that's why he was so repulsed by us all. I mean, I had guessed that, or the fact that we were a bunch of sixteen-year-olds with some idiotic crush on him.

He was rude to me, as you can imagine; used to tell me to hurry up and get my arse in the car. He'd send a few capitalised texts asking me if I was lost whenever I had stopped to talk to my instructor after dancing. And used to huff when I took five minutes to walk from one end of my school ground to the other.

He didn't like me at all, probably saw me as the brat of the richest man in Scotland. But, in his usual Eric fashion, the mixed signals between his words and actions had told me a different story.

For the next however amount of years, he'd told me that I did his head in daily, called me spoiled, and made it his life's mission to slag off my boyfriend at every given moment, which only intensified after the night I stayed at his place. Yet, if anyone looked at me the wrong way, said something degrading, or hurt me, he destroyed them. Especially the night I was attacked, and Robbie did absolutely nothing to help me, Eric hunted the guy down and unleashed hell. I don't think I've seen him so mad since then.

Until now.

His jaw is tensing, unblinkingly watching two masked figures slowly climb out of my room length wardrobe, not a minute after I'd run after Eric. I'm not sure if it's shock from the footage or fear of what he might do, but I can't seem to drag in a full breath while I wipe my hand on a tissue. Shallow and quick gasps slip from my mouth as my eyes glance from the clip playing, to my pissed off bodyguard who had his fingers buried inside of me not two minutes ago.

I can see death in his eyes, veins throbbing in his neck, fists clenching, and I can only assume he's planning to pull out that evil side of him once again.

He's silent, and probably imagining their bodies strewn across the dome's exit points, heads strung up as a warning not to mess with him again.

Wait...

They were in the room when...

"Oh my God," I blurt out, covering my mouth as I stand and use my finger to manipulate the projection, rewinding the recording to seconds before I had run from the bedroom to catch up with a moody Eric. "They... No, no, they can't."

I can hear him standing from the couch as the leather creaks, his chest gently pressing to my back as he reaches up to the screen and rewinds once more. Any other time I would've felt something from him being so close to me, but I'm dead inside, completely and utterly broken at the image of the pair standing in my bedroom.

"They've edited the clip; it skips eight minutes."

I feel all the blood drain from my face, my eyes wide. "How would they manage to do that?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him. "I thought only you had access to the feeds?"