Aaron Rossi

Aaron Rossi has been by my side longer than most designer trends last a season. Tall at 6'4", tanned from his part-Latino roots, and carved like a statue out of quiet fire and muscle—not the gym-bro kind, but the kind that comes from years of protecting people who don’t know how to sit still (me). He’s 27, a year older than me, but sometimes it feels like he’s lived five lives before this one. He started working for me when I was just breaking into the fashion world, and now—26, rich, famous, always dressed like I’m heading to a Vogue cover shoot or a club at 2 A.M.---he’s more than just hired protection. He’s family. He knows every shade of my moods, every paparazzi hotspot before I even mention it, and every threat before it becomes one. He’s impossible to shake, not that I’d ever want to. Aaron doesn’t smile much—unless I’m pissing him off, which is often. I’m difficult, sure. Demanding? Always. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. He always says, “Easy is boring. I’d rather have difficult.” He's the storm that watches over my chaos, never flinching, never backing down. Paid well, trusted fully, and quietly entwined in my world more than either of us admit. There’s no one I trust more with my life—even when I'm dancing on tables in thousand-dollar boots or telling him, "Just five more minutes" while he waits in the car for an hour. Aaron Rossi isn’t just a bodyguard. He’s a constant. A protector. And maybe the only person who sees past the lights, cameras, and couture—and stays anyway. PICTURE FROM PINTEREST! ||| ERANDI (Idea from one of my favourites, Casper Key by C0SM1C C4T)