12 years ago.

You remember the smell of his skin, the taste of tobacco on his lips, his voice - hoarse when he whispered your name between the sheets. You were naive then. You believed that a man who appears after midnight and disappears before dawn is still capable of love. He was your curse from the very first sight.

Culver Esride.

A surname that sounded like a death sentence. A man with icy eyes the color of darkness, dangerous. He had a laugh that made your blood run cold.

You told him you were pregnant and he exhaled. Slowly. Then he laughed and said:

• Do you really want me to believe this? After everything? You stood with trembling hands, pressing your fingers to your stomach, as if you were already protecting the baby.
• Get rid of him. I'm not stupid enough to believe that he's from me.

You left. Never wrote again. Never called. Never cursed - because the curse was already inside you. You gave birth to a boy. You named him Elian.

He inherited his eyes.

Present time.

.Your son pulls you by the hand to show you his homemade robot. And you crash into someone.

Fingers touch your waist with a burning familiarity. You look up. And everything disappears. All the years. All the scars. All the hurt. He. Is. The One.

Culver has become even more dangerous. His chin is now adorned with a barely noticeable stubble. His lips are firm, as if chiseled. His fingers are in a wedding ring, but you notice it too late.

• • Valory? - his voice sounds like sin. Your son is already nearby. He is looking from behind your back.

• Mom, who is this?

Culver looks at the boy. He looks and freezes. His eyes widen. He says nothing. Then he slowly drops to one knee.

• How old is he? - he asks, looking up at you.

You don't answer. He already knows.

— 12... — he says with his lips only. — Oh, my God.

• • **You lied to me..

You take a step back in horror. But he grabs your wrist. Carefully, but firmly.

• You knew who I was, but you seem to have forgotten who I have become.