Alex Jordan’s living room was dimly lit, cluttered with a mismatched array of sofas, armchairs, and side tables, each covered in a fine layer of dust that suggested no one had lived there in years. It was his “accommodation,” or as he preferred to call it, “the haunted house.” His first day there had already turned into a cleaning marathon, and despite his best efforts, the place still looked like a set from a ghost film. It creaked in eerie harmony with the occasional howling wind, as if mocking his attempts to make it livable.

With a sigh, he sat on the lumpy sofa, flipping open the file on his new assignment. As his eyes scanned the grainy, black-and-white headshot on the top page, he muttered, “Max Monroe. Actor, celebrity, walking HR disaster… and my new job.”

Just as he was getting settled, his phone buzzed. A familiar, no-nonsense face appeared on the screen: Director Collins, his boss. Alex answered, plastering on his best “yes, I’m still professional” face.

“Settling in, are we?” Collins asked, looking like he was already juggling a dozen other crises.

Alex gave his surroundings a once-over. “Well, if by ‘settling in’ you mean sitting in a place that’s practically a dust museum with decor from the dark ages, then yes. Couldn’t be better.”

Collins ignored the sarcasm, and Alex couldn’t help but smirk. Nothing rattled the old man. “Glad to hear you’re comfortable. Now, onto business,” Collins continued, his voice all business. “You’ll be meeting Monroe sooner than expected.”

“Lucky me,” Alex deadpanned, leaning back and glancing at the ceiling. “And here I thought this might just be a relaxing assignment.”

“Think again,” Collins replied with a rare, dry chuckle. “This won’t be a vacation.”

Alex shifted in his seat, finally paying attention. Collins wasn’t one to joke, so if he was chuckling, something was up. He picked up the file and skimmed through the bullet points. The rundown on Max Monroe read like a tabloids’ best hits: drama with co-stars, a penchant for firing bodyguards on a whim, and a reputation for… unpredictability.

As he flipped through, he stopped on a page detailing Max’s recent activities and felt his stomach sink. *Attending a private ball tonight at Dory Fashion Shop… VIP event only.*

“Oh, perfect,” he muttered. “A celebrity fashion ball. Because that’s exactly where I want to be. Tight security, high-profile guests, impossible to get into without an invite…”

The phone crackled, and Collins interrupted his grumbling. “Already read about the event, I take it?”

“Sure did,” Alex replied, rubbing his temples. “Look, Collins, I know you’re the director and all, but even you must realize that sneaking into Dory’s would take, I don’t know, an actual miracle.”

“Who said anything about sneaking in?” Collins replied smoothly. “We’ve got you covered, VIP-style.”

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“VIP-style?” Alex repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me HQ sprung for a fashion invite?”

Collins cleared his throat, a rare hint of amusement slipping through. “Not exactly. Let’s just say that you’re a preferred customer.”

Alex looked around, baffled. “Preferred customer? I don’t even shop there. Unless the discount bin in my closet counts.”

“Actually, every stick of furniture in that house was bought from Dory’s line,” Collins said, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “HQ redecorated the place last year.”

Alex snorted. “Right. So thanks to this haunted house, I’m officially a Dory’s VIP. That’s… comforting.”

“Take it however you want, but use it to your advantage. We’ve confirmed your access for tonight, so no excuses.”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a wave of exhaustion. “And what exactly is my ‘advantage’ here? I’m not here to hobnob with socialites.”

“Just keep an eye on Monroe, Alex. HQ’s received some chatter about a potential threat to him tonight. We think this event could be an opportunity for an attack.”

Alex’s smirk faded. Collins wasn’t joking this time. He sat up straighter. “How serious are we talking?”

“Serious enough. He’s a high-profile target with more than a few enemies,” Collins replied. “It’s likely someone could use the ball’s chaos to get close.”

“Great,” Alex muttered, glancing around the dim, dusty room as if it might offer him a last-minute escape. “So I’ll be babysitting a celebrity at a fashion gala, VIP or not. Anything else I should know?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Alex sensed Collins trying not to laugh. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Just be there by midnight.”

As the call ended, Alex tossed his phone on the lumpy sofa, leaning back with a groan. “VIP furniture,” he scoffed, eyeing the place with newfound contempt. “Bet it’s haunted just to spite me.”

He slouched back into the cushions, muttering to himself as he reviewed the file. Every paragraph only confirmed his suspicions: Max Monroe was a walking whirlwind of drama, the type who’d been through more bodyguards than he had co-stars. His misadventures had made him a tabloid favorite and a headache for every security detail assigned to him.

“Why does HQ think this is worth it?” Alex muttered aloud, flipping the pages with exasperation. “If Max doesn’t get me fired himself, his chaotic fanbase will. Just my luck.”

He read further, grumbling as he noted details about Max’s habit of ditching his bodyguards—stunt doubles, concerts, the works. It seemed he was the sort to give even the best professionals the runaround. At the bottom of the page was a small footnote on Max’s manager, Jenny Ray.

“Jenny Ray,” Alex read aloud. “Manager, PR genius, also known as… Max’s fiercely loyal fan and resident schemer. Perfect. So I’m not only up against Monroe himself, but his entire entourage.”

A sudden sound broke his train of thought—a faint, eerie creak that seemed to echo down the hallway. He froze, looking around cautiously. The house was prone to mysterious noises, and despite his best efforts, he hadn’t gotten used to them. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself he was a trained professional, not some green rookie afraid of an old house.

*Thunk.*

He flinched, half-standing, his eyes darting toward the door leading into the hallway. “All right,” he said under his breath, addressing the empty room as if it would respond. “I don’t know who or what is making that noise, but I’m officially calling it a night. Haunted furniture or not, I have a job to do.”

With a sigh, he grabbed his jacket and double-checked his VIP pass for the night. Even with all his doubts about the assignment, he’d at least make sure he’d be ready. The mission would be simple: get in, keep Max safe, and ideally get out without any fan-related chaos.

As he headed to the door, he muttered to himself, “I’m a bodyguard, not a ghost hunter. This assignment just keeps getting better.”