After My Bodyguard Faked Her Death, I Lost Everything

I woke up to the smell of mildew and rust. My wrists burned where the zip ties cut into skin. The basement was dark except for a single bulb swinging overhead. It made shadows move across the concrete floor like they were alive.

Three men stood around me. They wore black tactical gear with no markings. The tall one leaned against the wall, smoking. The one with the scar kept checking his watch. The third one, the one who'd hit me earlier, crouched in front of my chair.

"Where is Ambrose Collins staying tonight?" he asked again.

I stayed quiet. My lip was split. I could taste blood.

He sighed and stood up. "You're loyal. I'll give you that."

They didn't understand. This wasn't loyalty anymore. This was muscle memory. I'd drawn them away from Ambrose's car on purpose three days ago. I saw the setup at the intersection—the fake accident, the men positioned wrong, the way they watched his vehicle instead of the crowd. I made myself visible. I let them see me step out first. I gave Ambrose time to drive away.

That's what bodyguards do. That's what I did.

The tall one crushed his cigarette under his boot. "Collins isn't coming for her."

"He will," Scarface said.

But his voice didn't sound sure anymore.

I closed my eyes. I knew Ambrose had resources. I knew his head of security, Marcus Chen, would move heaven and earth if Ambrose gave the order. I told myself the rescue was coming. Any minute now. Ambrose would send his team. He'd pace the security room watching the tracker they'd embedded in my watch. He'd coordinate the extraction himself.

Any minute.

I held onto that thought through every hour. Through the questions. Through the fists. Through the cold.

On day four, the basement door exploded inward.

Marcus Chen came through first with six men behind him. The mercenaries didn't even fight. They knew when they were outmatched. Marcus cut the zip ties with a knife that had seen too much use. His face was hard.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"Yes."

I couldn't. He carried me anyway.

The Collins estate looked the same as always. White stone. Tall windows. Perfect hedges. Marcus brought me in through the service entrance. Staff stopped and stared. A maid I didn't know well—Rosa, I think her name was—caught my eye and looked away fast.

Marcus set me down on a bench in the back hallway. A doctor was already waiting. He worked quietly, checking my ribs, shining a light in my eyes, cleaning cuts.

"Mr. Collins has been informed of your recovery," the doctor said. His tone was flat. Professional.

I waited for Ambrose to come. To check on me. To say something.

He didn't.

Rosa appeared with clean clothes and helped me to my quarters. She was gentle. Careful not to touch the bruises. As she turned to leave, she stopped at the door.

"I shouldn't tell you this," she whispered. "But you should know. Mr. Collins called off the search on day two. Miss Hicks phoned him crying. Her cat was missing. He spent that night with her looking for it in Central Park. They found it the next morning under a bench."

She left before I could respond.

I sat on the edge of my bed. The mattress was thin. The room was small. I'd lived here for five years. Five years of standing outside his door. Of running into fires. Of kneeling in freezing rain for three days straight to convince a surgeon to save his life when he was paralyzed and no one else would try.

He left me in that basement for a cat.

I didn't cry. Crying was for people who still had something to lose.

I reached into the mattress lining and pulled out the burner phone I kept for emergencies. I stared at it for a long time. Then I dialed.

Marcus Reid answered on the first ring. Not Marcus Chen, Ambrose's head of security. Marcus Reid, my friend from another life. From before I became someone's shadow.

"Lennox," he said. "You okay?"

"I need a favor."

"Name it."

"I need to disappear. Completely. I need it to look real. I need a body, a fire, a closed casket. I need everyone to believe I'm dead."

Silence. Then: "When?"

"Seven days."

"That's tight."

"Can you do it?"

"Yeah. I can do it. You sure about this?"

I looked around my room. At the bare walls. At the uniform hanging on the back of the door. At the window that overlooked the garden where Ambrose walked every morning with Madelynn on his arm.

"I'm sure."

"Seven days," Marcus confirmed. "I'll be in touch."

I ended the call and deleted the log. Then I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Seven days.

I could survive seven more days.

The next morning, I put on my uniform and stood outside Ambrose's study like nothing had happened. He walked past me in the hallway at ten. He was on his phone. He didn't look at me.

Madelynn was with him. She wore a soft pink dress and had her hand tucked into his elbow. When she saw me, she smiled. It was small. Just for me.

She knew exactly what she'd done.

I didn't smile back. I just turned and walked to my post. I had six days left. Then Lennox Marshall would burn to ash and disappear. And whoever I became next would be someone who finally learned that some people don't deserve your life.