Chapter Eight: Meet Riot
As the clock struck midnight, Diane was in bed, tossing and turning.
Her new home was quiet...too quiet.
The silence, though comforting at first, now felt strange.
It was her second night in the house, and while she appreciated the solitude, the absence of familiar noise made her hyper aware of every crack and rustle.
She had hired Riot, but he wasn't due to arrive until the morning.
A faint groan escaped her lips as she sat up, running a hand through her wild curls.
'Just one more night alone,' she told herself.
As if fate had other plans, a small noise shattered the stillness—a soft scraping sound came from the living room.
Diane froze, her heart started beating. She held her breath, straining her ears.
The noise came again, louder this time.
'Someone's breaking in.'
Her pulse quickened.
Without thinking, she grabbed a frying pan from the small kitchenette near her room and tiptoed toward the sound.
She wasn't a fighter, but she wasn't going down without a fight, either.
The scraping turned into a soft thud, and Diane's grip on the pan tightened.
"Please, don't be Adrian..."
She stepped into the dimly lit living room, her see-through silk pyjamas flutter3: slightly as she moved.
Her face burned as she realised her attire was less than practical for dealing with an intruder, but there was no time to worry about that now.
She peeked around the corner, holding the pan high like a weapon.
The sight before her made her freeze.
A tall, muscular man was standing in the middle of the room, casually pinning a struggling intruder to the floor with one arm.
His curly red hair was slightly tousled, and he wore a fitted black T-shirt and cargo pants that screamed "professional badass."
Diane blinked. "Who the—"
The man's light brown eyes moved to her.
"Put the pan down, princess," he commanded. "I've got this."
"What... who are you?" Diane stammered, still clutching the pan.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Riot. Your bodyguard. Remember? Or were you planning to fend off intruders with your cooking skills?"
Diane's cheeks flushed. "I didn't know you were here yet!"
"Well, I am," Riot replied.
He glanced down at the intruder, who was now whimpering under his grip.
"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't get in the way while I'm working."
Diane bristled at his arrogance, lowering the pan but keeping her grip on it.
"I wasn't trying to get in the way! I was trying to protect myself."
"With a frying pan?" Riot scoffed, dragging the intruder to his feet with one hand.
The man looked like a scrawny figure dressed in dark clothes—yelped as Riot shoved him toward the front door.
"Hey! I just wanted—" the intruder began, but Riot cut him off.
"Save it. The police are on their way, and I doubt they'll care about your excuses."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Riot silenced him with a glare that could have stopped a charging bull.
Diane watched in stunned silence as Riot effortlessly manhandled the intruder out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.
When he turned back to her, he had frowned eyebrows. "Are you always this reckless?"
"Reckless?" Diane repeated. "I was trying to defend my home!"
"By wandering out here alone in your pyjamas, armed with... that?"
Riot gestured to the pan still in her hand, his lips formed into a smirk. "Bold strategy."
Diane's face turned crimson.
"I didn't know you were here! You could have introduced yourself instead of sneaking around."
"I wasn't sneaking," Riot said, leaning casually against the wall.
"I was doing my job. You were the one sneaking around like a sitcom character."
Diane glared at him. "I wasn't sneaking!"
"You were," Riot countered. "But hey, points for enthusiasm. Next time, try not to wear something that makes you look like you're auditioning for a sleepwear catalog."
Diane's mouth fell open, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, the pan clanging loudly against her arm.
"This is unbelievable!"
"I get that a lot," Riot replied, being quite unaffected. "Now, if you're done playing hero, I'll handle the rest."
Diane narrowed her eyes. "What exactly do you mean by 'the rest'?"
"Securing the property, checking for vulnerabilities, and making sure no one else tries to break in," Riot said, ticking off each point on his fingers.
"You know—my actual job."
His tone was so condescending that Diane nearly threw the pan at him.
Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know when you're here next time."
Riot raised an eyebrow. "You hired me to protect you, not to check in like a babysitter."
"Well, I don't appreciate surprises," Diane replied back.
"Noted," Riot said, though the smirk on his face suggested he wasn't taking her seriously.
Diane glared at him one last time before turning on her heel and marching back toward her room.
"I'm going to bed," she announced over her shoulder.
"Good idea," Riot called after her. "You've had a long night of... frying pan heroics."
Diane slammed her bedroom door shut, muttering under her breath. "Riot. More like Riot in my peace."
The next morning, Diane found Riot in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scrolling through something on his phone.
He looked up when she entered, checking her briefly before he returned to his phone.
"Morning, princess," he greeted in a casual tone.
"Don't call me that," Diane snapped, heading to the coffee machine.
Riot smirked. "Sure thing, boss."
Diane rolled her eyes. "Did you finish... 'securing the property'?"
"Done by 3 a.m.," Riot said, setting his phone down.
"No more surprises. Unless you're planning to break out the frying pan again."
Diane gave him a glare but didn't respond.
Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.
Riot leaned back in his chair.
"So," he said, "what's the plan for today? Or is my job just to follow you around and make sure you don't get yourself killed?"
"I have things to do," Diane said curtly. "You'll be notified if I need you."
"Good to know," Riot smiled. "I'll try not to get in the way of your... plotting."
Diane froze, her coffee halfway to her lips. "What did you say?"
"Relax," Riot said, raising his hands in surrender.
"You've got that look—like you're always planning something. Don't worry, I don't care what it is, as long as it doesn't put you in danger."
Diane rolled her eyes, unsure whether to be annoyed or impressed.
Riot was sharp—sharper than she had expected.
"Just do your job," she said finally, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Always."
As Diane watched Riot sip his coffee with maddening ease, she couldn't stop feeling intrigued by him.
He was cocky, insufferable, and far too perceptive.
But he was good at his job. And for now, that was enough.
"I'm going to meet my husband today, come with me."