She was everything they never expected.
Regal and mysterious, Callaia Sosa was more than they bargained for when they accepted the job of protecting her. Little was told of the heiress and there was even less to find.
They expected someone spoiled...
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🌐
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎
𝟽:𝟸𝟶 𝚊.𝚖.
I stare off, lost in thought, still standing in the same place I'd been summoned. The time has finally come for answers. I want them, I need them, but there's a small part of me that's afraid. No, afraid isn't the right word. Apprehensive. I'm apprehensive of what's to come.
I don't do well with unknowns. Not when it involves the one I love most. All I know is that there's a horde of men, the exact number not known, that are invading my personal life like ants, and that somehow my Paw is involved in this mess. He's involved and has also brought them in of his own volition, for a reason I'm soon to find out.
It's this reason that has me frozen in place. The men I can handle. I've handled a lot worse over the years, but Paw wouldn't do something like this without a damn good reason and the reasons I can think of are making me sick to my stomach.
I have a brief thought, a silly one really, once I realize this meeting may include the unwelcome conspirators. It occurs to me that if I don't change my clothes I'll be facing off with them in a skimpy nightgown. However, this thought is fleeting. I'll be damned if they'll intimidate me in my grandfather's own home.
With all my thoughts put in order and all my worries buried deep, I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders into a more regal posture, and turn in the direction of the Cigar Room. Only instantly the breath is stolen from my lungs.
In the morning lit shadows at the far end of the hallway, stands a massive man watching me. Behind him are tall encompassing stained glass windows, hued mostly in gold and red, that depict an angel falling from heaven into the fiery pits of hades. The red glow beams down on his form casting his features in shade, giving him a sinister halo.
When one can't take stock of a person by their distinguishing features, it's imperative to take stock of their form at the very least. I do just that, taking note of his broad stature, though not quite as impressive as the handful of tag alongs I've recently come across. He's more compounded, more packed into each square inch rather than spread out where his bones can breathe easy. The way he stands is half offensive, half careless - he's pissed and couldn't give a damn if he tried.
