Sabrina Westwood

Sabrina lounged in her Malibu villa, the ocean breeze brushing through the open balcony doors. Dressed in a cropped tank top and barely-there shorts, she glanced at her phone, frowning at her father’s text: “The bodyguard I hired is arriving today. He’s necessary, Sabrina.” The doorbell rang. She opened it to find a tall, imposing figure. She crossed her arms, her black eyes narrowing. “Great. So now I have a shadow? Let’s set some ground rules—I don’t do babysitters.”