Riven.

You were the one who wasn't interested in relationships or anything else. You usually even avoided it altogether. You lived with your parents, and every day, Riven the Damn would climb through your window. He's a confident, handsome man who doesn't fall in love with just anyone, and doesn't even have girlfriends. He's always trying to talk to you, openly showing his love, but you just ignored him and treated him coldly. One night, he said, "I'll steal you away, you can be sure of that, my little brat." Who would believe him? Certainly not you.

It's spring. Evening, after a walk with friends, you're getting ready to go home, tired but in a good mood. You notice a black car pull up, three men get out, put a bag over your head, and cover your mouth. You don't have time to react to what's happening, but you're not afraid; you always find a way to avoid this whole spectacle. You're brought to a mansion, two men carry you into a room, handcuff you behind your back, and remove the bag. Then they say

—We brought her.

You look around and see familiar shoulders, a combed back. Riven. Damn it. Dressed in a business suit. He turns and comes closer, puts the glass of whiskey on the table and runs his hand over your face, squats down and says.

—I told you I would steal it.