Within Arm's Reach Pt. 1
You were seated in front of the mirror, undoing the necklace your father insisted you wear to dinner-too expensive, too noticeable, too much. You dropped it onto the vanity like it burned.
The knock came seconds later.
"Your father needs you downstairs."
You glanced over, already annoyed. "For what?"
He shrugged like it wasn't his problem. "Didn't say. Just said now."
You let out a breath through your nose irritation curling in your chest. Of course. No explanation. No choice.
"Great," you muttered.
You stood, smoothing the dress you wore to dinner like you were bracing yourself for impact, because that's what it always felt like - walking into whatever your father decided was important enough to summon you for.
As you followed him into the hallway, your thoughts started running the same tired loop they always did.
Your father didn't ask for things. He didn't suggest.
He declared.
Daddy says stand here. Daddy says smile. Daddy says don't ask questions. Daddy says this is how it has to be.
You'd grown up surrounded by power dressed up as protection. Expensive walls. Armed men. Conversations that stopped the moment you entered a room. Everyone calling him "sir," everyone moving when he moved.
Peopled whispered about him like he was a myth.
But you?
He wasn't just in the mafia.
He was the mafia.
And you were the thing everyone pretended wasn't part of it until it mattered.
The heiress.
The word sat heavy every time it crossed your mind. You never asked for it. Never wanted it. Never got a say in it. Your life mapped out in quiet commands and unspoken expectations, all wrapped up in the excuse of family.
You didn't resent the rules.
You resented that they were written for you before you were old enough to fight them.
By the time you reached the staircase, your jaw was tight, shoulders already tense. Whatever waited for you downstairs, you knew one thing for sure -
Your father never called you in unless something was about to change.
Protection
When you reached the bottom floor, you already knew where he'd be.
The drawing room smelled like leather, bourbon, and whatever cologne your father had been wearing since before you were born. He was seated in one of the armchairs near the window, suit jacket discarded, tie loosened just enough to say long day, a glass of amber liquid resting easy in his hand. He looked up the moment you stepped in, eyes sharp despite the relaxed posture.
You leaned against the doorway instead of stepping fully inside, arms crossing over your chest. "Yes, daddy dearest?" you sang lightly, sarcasm dripping enough to be intentional.
His mouth twitched - not quite a smile, not quite annoyance. "Sit."
You didn't. "No."
That earned you a look. Not angry. Calculating. The same look that made grown men straighten their spines without realizing why.
"We need to talk," he said evenly.
You sighed, pushing off the doorway and finally walking in, but you stayed standing. Distance was a habit with him now.
"About what," you asked already bracing yourself, "and if this is another lecture about what I should or shouldn't be doing, I promise I've heard it."
"This isn't a lecture," he replied. "It's a decision."
That made your jaw tighten. "Your decisions usually involve my life without my input."
He took a slow sip of his drink. "Because your life is involved whether you like it or not."
There it was. The part that always made your chest feel tight.
"What's going on?" you asked, quieter now.
He studied you for a moment before answering. "Things are shifting. Line are being crossed. I don't like it."
"And what does that have to do with me?" you shot back. "I don't leave the house without three cars behind me already."
"Which is no longer enough."
You let out a humorless laugh. "So what-you're adding another one?"
"I'm assigning someone to you. Full-time."
You blinked once. "Absolutely not."
His gaze hardened. "It's not optional."
"I don't need a babysitter," you snapped, arms tightening across your chest. "I'm not a child."
"This isn't about your age," he said, voice calm but firm. "It's about what you represent."
You hated that word. "I represent me."
"You represent my name," he corrected. "My legacy."
You shook your head, frustration bubbling over. "You don't get to keep tightening the leash every time you feel threatened."
"This isn't fear," he said quietly. "This is protection."
"Protection that feels a lot like control."
Silence settled between you, thick and heavy. He finally stood, adjusting his cuffs, suddenly every bit of the man people feared.
"You can be angry," he said. "You can be stubborn. But this is happening."
Your voice dropped. "And what if I don't want him following me around?"
He paused at the door glancing back at you. "Then I suggest you don't give him a reason to be close."
Your stomach sank.
"And when do I meet this... bodyguard?" you asked already dreading the answer.
"Soon," he said simply.
That single word set your nerves on edge.
You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being careful."
"You always say that," you shot back. "And somehow it always ends with me losing a little more freedom."
He stepped away from the door closer to you, close enough that you could see the exhaustion beneath his composure. For a brief moment, he looked less like the man everyone feared and more like your father.
"This isn't about keeping you caged," he said quietly. "It's about keeping you alive."
The room went still.
You swallowed, anger warring with something softer. "I don't want someone watching my every move."
"I know," he replied. "But you don't always get what you want."
There it was again. The reminder.
He turned away first, already dismissing the conversation. "I'm going upstairs," he said. "We'll talk more later." Stepping out the door with a click.
The Next Day
Your arms were already aching by the time you stepped back into the house, shopping bags cutting into your wrists as the door shut behind you. Laughter and conversation drifted down the hallway - male voices, low and unfamiliar.
You slowed.
Your father's office.
The door was cracked just enough for curiosity to get the better of you. You leaned in first, peeking through the opening before pushing it open fully and stepping inside.
Your father looked up immediately.
The man seated across from him snapped his head toward you - and then stood.
Slowly.
You froze for half a second, eyes trailing over him without a word. Tall. Broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his jacket. He carried himself like someone who was always aware of his surroundings, posture straight, expression closed off. When your gaze lifted to his face, his eyes caught yours - greenish-blue, sharp and readable.
You turned back to your father.
"Dad..." you started.
"And where have you been young lady?" he cut in.
You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed, then deliberately lifted your arms, eyebrows raised as the shopping bags swung slightly. The answer was obvious.
"You didn't let me know you were going out today," he continued.
"Sorry," you replied plainly. "I thought you would've known, since you 'upped security.' "
His jaw tightened. "Watch your tone."
You didn't respond right away. Instead, your eyes flicked back to the man beside him - your bodyguard, you realized - before returning to your father.
"Is this...?" you asked, pointing subtly in his direction.
"Yes," your father said, standing and adjusting his tie. "This is Tyriq."
You looked at him again, really looked this time. The way his suit fit like it was tailored for him. The calm confidence in his stance. The way his gaze never wavered. Annoyance curled in your chest - annoyance and something else you refused to acknowledge.
He stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Nice to meet you," he said, voice low and deep, smooth in a way that caught you off guard.
You hesitated - just a heat - before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm and brief, professional.
"Good," your father said, clearly pleased. Then he turned to Tyriq. "I already gave you the rundown. She's not to leave your sight."
"Yes, sir," Tyriq replied without hesitation.
You looked between the two men, disbelief written all over your face. With a sharp shake of your head, you turned on your heel and headed for the stairs.
Footsteps followed.
You stopped mid-step and spun around, holding a hand up.
"Oh no," you said flatly. "You will not follow me around the house. I think I can manage."
"Y/N," your father warned.
You sucked your teeth. "Please, Dad. Not in the house." You exaggerated the plea, already turning away.
Tyriq paused, glancing back at your father.
Your father lifted a hand, stopping him. "She's going to need to warm up to you."
Tyriq nodded once, eyes following you as you disappeared up the stairs.
You made it to your room and dropped the bags by the door with a huff, the reality of it all finally settling in. This was really your life now. Someone assigned to you. Watching. Waiting. Always there. The thought alone made your skin crawl.
So you stayed in the house.
For days.
You avoided unnecessary movement, avoided outings, avoided giving him any excuse to trail behind you. Thankfully, your father didn't insist on Tyriq following you room to room. Not yet. The house still felt like the last place you could breathe.
But eventually, you needed to get out.
You were already dressed, keys in hand, moving toward the front door when you caught sight of him - standing just off to the side, calm, unreadable.
You froze.
Without thinking, you shifted back out of his line of sight, heart thudding as you took the longer route through the hall. Another exit. Another door. You reached for the handle -
"Where are you going?"
Tyriq's voice cut through the quiet, low and steady.
You closed your eyes briefly, releasing a slow breath before turning around. "I just need to go to the store," you said, keeping your tone even.
His expression didn't change. "You don't leave alone."
Your jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for an escort."
"Do you always defy your father?" he asked.
You scoffed. "If only you knew."
He stepped closer - not threatening, but deliberate. "You either come with me," he said, "or don't go at all."
The air between you felt thick as you held his gaze, neither of you backing down. Finally, you sucked your teeth and looked away.
"Fine."
The next thing you knew, you were in the back seat of one of the black trucks, elbow propped against the door, chin resting in your hand. Your face was scrunched in a scowl as the city passed by outside the window.
You glanced up front just long enough to see Tyriq behind the wheel - focused, composed, entirely unbothered. You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the glass.
The Store
The store was busy enough to give you a sense of freedom, but not crowded enough to lose him entirely. Tyriq wasn't hovering at your side, wasn't crowding your space - but you feel him. Just behind you. Close enough to be aware, far enough to pretend you weren't being watched.
You decided to test it.
You stopped abruptly in the middle of the aisle.
So did he.
You walked again, casual at first, the stopped once more.
He stopped too.
You sidestepped.
He mirrored you.
You sped up.
So did he.
It was almost laughable.
Your lips twitched as you grabbed an item off the shelf, heart racing with something that felt dangerously close to amusement. Okay, fine. Let's see if he can keep up.
You picked up the pace, cutting corners, weaving through aisles, slipping past a couple arguing over cereal. You didn't look back until you were sure - sure - he wasn't behind you anymore.
Relief washed over you.
You turned - and slammed straight into him.
You gasped, clutching the basket to your chest as he stood directly in front of you, solid and unmoving. His eyes flicked down to you, expression unreadable, though there was a faint edge of irritation in his voice.
"Are you done playing?"
You stepped back quickly, clearing your throat. "I am, actually," you said lifting your chin as you moved past him, pretending you hadn't just been startled out of your skin.
From the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head.
You bit back a laugh.
The doors slid open and the warm air hit your face as you stepped out of the of the store, grocery bags tucked under your arm. You didn't make it far before Tyriq spoke.
"Don't do that again."
You slowed but didn't stop. "Do what?" you asked lightly, already knowing the answer.
"Running," he said, falling into step beside you. His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it - warning, maybe. "You could've put yourself in danger."
You scoffed. "Relax. I was in a grocery store, not the middle of a war zone."
He stopped walking.
You took another step before realizing he wasn't beside you anymore and turned back, brows raised.
"Afraid Daddy's gonna fire you?" you asked, folding your arms.
His jaw flexed. He studied you for a moment, eyes sharp like he was sorting through something he hadn't decided how to name yet.
"That's not what this is," he said finally.
"Oh?" you challenged.
"I don't care about your father's approval," Tyriq continued, voice low. "I care about doing my job."
You tilted your head. "Which is?"
"Keeping you safe," he said without hesitation.
Something in the way he said it made your chest tighten - just a little. You waved it off, stepping toward the truck.
"Well, you did your job," you said. "Congratulations."
He opened the door for you, gaze lingering just a second too long. " I see the type of attitude you have," he added. "I just haven't decided what to do about it yet."
You paused, hand on the door, then smirked. "Good luck." As you climbed inside you felt his eyes on you.
Soiree
Tyriq never left your side.
When you were out, he was there - always just close enough to remind you he existed. Sometimes you saw him. Sometimes you didn't. But you could feel him. Like a shadow stitched to your heels. Like eyes on your back even when you turned to find an empty space.
It drove you insane.
Not in a thrilling way. Not in a comforting way. It felt like suffocation.
Tonight was no different.
The event your father hosted was lavish, excessive - everything he loved. You stood perfectly composed at his side, dressed in black like he instructed, heavy jewels adorning your neck and wrists as if to remind everyone exactly who you belonged to. You smiled when expected, nodded when spoken to, played the role you'd be rehearing your entire life.
Tyriq lingered nearby. Not hovering. Watching.
As the night dragged on, the noise became unbearable. The laughter too loud. The room too full. You needed air. Just a minute.
Your eyes scanned the room, searching for an opening. A moment. A distraction.
There.
As Tyriq turned his back to quietly speak to another guard, you slipped past him, weaving through bodies and champagne glasses until the chaos faded behind you. You didn't stop until you found a long, quiet hallway tucked away from the event.
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
Finally.
Then footsteps echoed.
Your shoulders stiffened instantly. You straightened, pulse quickening as the sound drew closer. When you turned, you found yourself face to face with a man you never seen before - but somehow, your instincts screamed anyway.
Mr. Sinclair
He smiled, slow and unsettling. "You shouldn't be walking around alone," he said smoothly. "Wouldn't want anyone to snatch you up, princess."
Your stomach dropped.
"I'm fine," you replied, stepping back.
He followed.
"You know," he continued, eyes sharp with something ugly, "it must be exhausting - pretending you care about your father's business. I hear you never wanted any part of it."
Your back hit the wall.
"How do you -"
"Talent like yours deserves freedom," he interrupted. "Not a cage built by blood and power."
Your heart pounded as he stepped closer. Too close.
"Step away from me," you warned.
He didn't.
Instead, his hand shot out gripping your upper arm tightly. You gasped, trying to jerk free, but he was stronger. Panic surged as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.
You froze.
Your eyes widened as he dragged the tip of the blade lightly down your cheek, just enough to feel the cold metal.
"Would hate to see what Daddy dearest would do without his precious heiress."
The world moved all at once.
Tyriq came out of nowhere - tackling Sinclair to the ground with brutal force. The knife clattered across the floor as security rushed in, voices shouting, chaos erupting in the hallway.
You barely registered it.
"Dad..."
Your father was suddenly in front of you, hands on your shoulders, eyes frantic as he inspected you. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"
You shook your head, breath unsteady.
"Tyriq," your father barked, already turning. "Get her out of here."
Before you could protest, you were being handed off - Tyriq's grip firm on your elbow.
"Wait, Dad-"
"Please," Tyriq whispered sharply, leaning in. "Listen to your father for once."
The edge in his voice stunned you.
You looked up at him, something hot flaring in your chest. You yanked your arm out of his grip.
"I can walk on my own," you snapped. "Thank you."
You turned and walked away before he could respond - heels clicking sharply against the floor.
And of course - you feel him behind you.
Closer than ever.
WTF
The ride home was anything but quiet.
Tyriq's hands were tight on the steering wheel, jaw set as he drove through the city like he was trying to outrun what had just happened.
"You can't just disappear like that," he snapped, eyes never leaving the road. "Do you have any idea how fast that could've gone left? One second - one second and -"
You stared out the window, tuning him out completely.
Your mind was still in the hallway. The knife. Sinclair's voice. The way your father looked - panicked, not surprised. Like he knew this was coming.
Like he's been keeping something from you.
" - you don't get to decide when you're alone," Tyriq continued. "Not right now. Not when things are -"
"Enough," you cut in sharply.
He glanced at you then, surprised.
You didn't look at him. Your reflection stared back at you in the glass - angry, shaken, furious. Not at Tyriq. At your father. At the fact that you were standing in the middle of something dangerous without ever being given the full truth.
The rest of the drive passed in tense silence.
Once home, you barely spoke. You showered, scrubbing your skin like you could wash the night off you, then crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling until the house finally went quiet.
Your heart was still racing.
You sat up suddenly.
Something wasn't right.
You slipped out of your room and padded down the hallway, careful, alert. When you reached your father's office, you paused, hand hovering over the handle. You cracked the door open first, peeking inside. Empty.
You slipped in, closed the door softly, and locked it behind you.
Your pulse pounded as you crossed to his desk. You hesitated - then started opening drawers. Papers. Files. Documents you'd never been meant to see.
Then you found it.
A thick portfolio.
Tyriq.
Your fingers trembled as you opened it.
Ex-military. Special operations. Black-ops contracts. Assassinations. Security extraction. Threat elimination.
You swallowed hard.
This wasn't just a bodyguard.
He was a weapon.
You flipped through the pages faster, breath shallow. Surveillance photos. Reports. And then -
Sinclair.
A war. An active one. Retaliation. Kidnappings. Threats against you. Against your father's bloodline.
That's why.
That's why Tyriq was hired. That's why Sinclair looked at you like prey. That's why your father panicked.
You sank into the chair, the weight of it all crashing down at once.
Your life. Your safety. Tyriq.
None of it was what you thought.
You stared at the papers in stunned silenced.
"What the fuck."
Thank you so much for reading Within Arm's Reach Pt. 1. I truly appreciate all the love you guys show me in general 💖Feel free to let me know how you're feeling about it so far, and if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, just say the word 🫶🏾
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