BITTERSWEET PART 3 - ARMATA AND CALISTA

Calista

The morning light streams through my bedroom window, bouncing off the array of designer bags and shoes that populate my sanctuary. I’m scrolling through my social media feed, double-tapping on photos that barely hold my interest, when there’s a knock on my door. It’s probably one of my existing bodyguards, reminding me of some mundane errand I have to run today.

Instead, the door creaks open and my father steps in. His aura fills the room like a cloud of stern disapproval. “Calista, we need to talk,” he says, the weight of his authority in each syllable.

I roll my eyes. “I’m busy, Daddy.”

He strides across the room, ignoring the clutter, and sits on the edge of my bed. “This is important, Calista. More important than whatever party you’re planning to attend tonight.”

“Highly unlikely,” I quip, but he’s not laughing.

“I’ve arranged for a new bodyguard to join your team,” he says, not a hint of humour in his eyes.

I snort. “Another one? I already have two. What’s wrong with Niko