Chapter 3The Guardian's Trap: Claiming His Little Ward

Vaughn paid me several crisp hundred-dollar bills. Enough to cover his room for a long time.

I used to dread coming home from school, but now I couldn't wait.

Because Vaughn only showed up at night when I was watching the shop alone.

When the weekend finally arrived, I woke up early and busied myself downstairs. But I never saw him come down.

I was frustrated that I didn't have an excuse to go find him, until I realized the ancient water heater was acting up again.

It was practically a godsend.

When I went up to deliver a kettle of hot water, he wasn't fully awake. His silk shirt hung loosely, his belt unbuckled. He looked like a wealthy heir recovering from a wild night of indulgence.

I didn't dare look at him. I put the kettle down and tried to leave, but he raised an arm to block me: "Kid, grab me a towel."

His voice was low, raspy, and lazy.

A shiver ran down my spine, and it felt like something was going to jump out of my chest.

The motel towels were cheap bulk buys my dad got from the flea market. After thinking about it, I ran to my own room and grabbed a brand-new towel. I also made a piping hot glass of honey water.

When I dropped off the kettle, I had smelled a faint scent of alcohol on him.

However, when I went back, I saw Vaughn flirting with a female tourist.

The man's large hand, with its prominent veins, gripped the curvy woman's waist without an ounce of tenderness. Half of his head was hidden behind her bare shoulder.

...

The scene was too intense for me.

My body lost all its strength, and I couldn't breathe.

Crash.

The glass cup shattered at my feet. The boiling water splashed, and I cried out in pain.

At that exact moment, Vaughn stopped what he was doing.