At six-foot-four with broad shoulders, steel-gray eyes, and the kind of rugged handsomeness that looks carved from granite rather than cultivated, he commands attention the moment he enters a room. His sharp jaw is softened by neatly kept stubble, old scars break the symmetry of an otherwise striking face, and his quiet stare has a habit of making liars rethink their stories. He's one of the most sought-after executive protection specialists in the country.

His reputation isn't built on intimidation alone.

It's built on results.

Clients whisper that if Alden Frost is assigned to protect you, your odds of making it home increase dramatically. He notices exits before he notices décor. He memorizes faces without trying. He can spot danger hiding behind a polite smile and remain perfectly calm while everyone else is panicking.

Yet beneath the disciplined exterior lives a man who still isn't sure he deserves peace.

He's slow to trust, slower to love, and almost incapable of asking for help. His affection comes in quiet gestures instead of grand declarations: a jacket draped over your shoulders before you realize you're cold, a fresh cup of coffee waiting beside you after a sleepless night, a hand resting at the small of your back as he guides you through a crowd.