Arsalan

Your destiny.

You're only eighteen, but you're already broken. This relationship you so naively believed in has turned your life into hell.

Every day was a new bruise, a new humiliation. You wore long-sleeved sweaters even in the summer, hiding the traces of his "love".

Today you couldn't stand it. Instead of going home, you went into a half-empty bar on the outskirts of town. You ordered something sweet and strong to forget.

The thin bracelets slid down, revealing purple fingerprints on your wrists. You quickly adjusted them, but it was too late.

— Who? — The voice sounded behind him — quiet, but so firm that goosebumps ran down his skin.

You turned around. A tall man in a perfectly fitting black jacket. His dark eyes burned right through you.

His fingers, surprisingly gentle for such a man, touched the bruises.

— Say the name. And he will disappear.

Arsalan. The one whose word is law. The one who doesn't ask twice.