CHAPTER 269: NOT SAFE

Chapter 269 – Not Safe

She blinked. "Worse? How is it worse?"

Lux looked at her, entirely deadpan. "Believe me. It’s worse."

"Just wear it," she said firmly, her tone slipping back into CEO mode. "You’re the one causing all the chaos. This will... dial it down."

He sighed. "Fine. But I’m warning you. You brought this on yourself."

Then he stood, turned, and walked toward the changing room—towel slung low, bare back glistening, confident stride not helping her heart rate in any way. The air felt ten degrees hotter and she suddenly hated the gods for giving him both looks and humor.

A few minutes passed. Ely took a cautious sip of her drink. Then another.

He returned.

Wearing the new swim trunks.

And at first glance—she relaxed.

It wasn’t as tight. It looked normal. The fabric was looser, more matte, definitely longer. A bit boring, maybe, but hey. Boring was good. Boring was safe.

She looked up and nodded. "Not bad. See? Not as—"

Then he raised a finger, finishing the rest of his drink in one elegant pull. He walked toward the pool, stretched once—arms overhead, abs flexing—then jumped.

A splash. Smooth entry. Ripples dancing across the surface like liquid silver.

He swam.

One lap.

Two.

Three.

Ely watched him, trying to keep her expression neutral. Failing.

And then—

He climbed out.

And everything imploded.

The water clung to him. The new trunks, soaked through, betrayed every illusion of modesty. Fabric molded to skin like shrink-wrapped finance. Worse—because it was loose, the material bunched and dipped and stuck in all the wrong places. And it was white!

Which meant...

She could see everything.

Not just "oh wow, he’s packing" everything. No. She saw details. Vaguely.

The base.

The tip.

The outline of his balls pressed slightly forward by the cling of the crotch.

And she could see how it swayed.

Her heart slammed into her ribs like a boardroom gavel. Her glass slipped in her hand. Her throat forgot how to swallow.

"—hhhk—!"

She choked.

And not just her.

All around the pool—jaws dropped. Housewives dropped sunglasses. One heiress visibly missed her step and grabbed a parasol for support. Another woman gasped audibly and pretended to adjust her chair just so she could get a better angle.

A bartender froze mid-shake, the cocktail in the shaker foaming up without rhythm.

Ely’s face turned the color of high-yield debt collapse.

Lux raised his hands like a man who had warned the market before the crash.

"See?" he said. "Just count me as naked at this point."

Ely coughed again, trying to suppress both a scream and an aneurysm. "Uh—yeah. You’re right. Just—just change again. Please."

"Nope."

He strode toward her, water still trailing down his chest in obscene rivulets. When he reached her table, he leaned in. Low. Close.

"You made this mess," he said, voice a conspiratorial whisper, "now take responsibility."

Her brain short-circuited.

"W-what responsibility?!"

Lux’s chin tilted subtly toward the pool.

"All of them," he said. "They’re going to pounce the moment you leave. Like an unregulated housing bubble full of neglected affection and leftover cocktails."

Ely stared at the crowd.

The MILFs had not left.

In fact—they looked ready.

A few were already whispering. One had her phone out, pretending to text, but the camera lens was too obviously angled at Lux’s very visible... fundamentals.

"Escort me," he said casually, folding his arms across his soaked chest. "Bodyguard-style. You’re already wearing the power suit. All that’s missing is a taser."

She opened her mouth to argue. Couldn’t. Her brain was too busy internally screaming at the unfairness of the universe for putting her in this position.

"Drinks," she snapped at the staff.

The poor attendant—already wide-eyed from the disaster unfolding around the pool—jumped. "Yes, miss?"

"Two more," she muttered. "Cold. Strong. And maybe blinding so I forget what I just saw."

The server scurried off.

Lux sat beside her, smug and dripping. "You’re very cute when you’re panicking."

"I’m not panicking."

"You’re blinking like someone just hacked your investment app."

She took a deep breath.

"You’re a menace, Lux Vaelthorn."

"I’m very high yield," he replied.

Ely covered her face with one hand. Her brain was melting. Her professionalism was already halfway to Hell.

And her heart?

Beating like a quarterly report filled with red flags and no contingency fund.

She was doomed.

And Lux?

He wasn’t even trying.

For the next thirty minutes, she did what she swore she’d never do for any man—she agreed to become his bodyguard. Not officially, of course. There was no written contract, no stamp, no clause to hold her accountable. But she was following him like a shadow, intercepting looks from the housewives, glaring down any socialite who lingered too long, and subtly positioning herself between him and the more daring women at the pool.

Lux seemed amused by it all. He swam slow, graceful laps, his body cutting through the water like a predator enjoying a lazy hunt. Sometimes he paused to drink, sometimes he just leaned on the edge of the infinity pool, gaze sliding out over the city skyline.

And that gaze—

Gods, that gaze.

It wasn’t simple. It wasn’t casual. It carried weight.

Sometimes it looked like he was enjoying the view.

Sometimes it looked like he wanted to own the view.

And then—sometimes—she saw that other gaze. The one that made her chest tighten in ways she didn’t like. The tired one. The soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

-Ba-thump!

She actually heard it in her head. Her own heartbeat, hammering louder than it should, betraying her.

And before she could think herself out of it, she stood up. Her hands tugged at the hem of her blouse. Smooth motion. Professional grace.

And then—fabric slipped away.

Her clothes folded neatly on the lounge chair, revealing the black bikini she always wore underneath when she visited this place. Elyndra didn’t do "unprepared." Never. But right now? She looked like someone doing something reckless.