Ryan

Their parents didn't get together out of love, but out of convenience. Her mother, Larisa, a beautiful, burned-out woman with a bone-breaking past that refused to be resolved, wanted peace. His father, Victor, a man with icy eyes, a fat wallet, and a death grip, needed the image of a happy family. He had long since ceased to feel anything but boredom and power.

She gave him a beautiful cover. He gave her safety and silence. No passion, no vows—just a deal. And the children? They didn't choose to be part of this story.

Mark grew up in a void. His mother died when he was seven. From then on, his father rarely spoke to him—more often giving orders than asking questions. The silence in this house wasn't a comfort—it was a death sentence. He began to survive: with teeth, fists, anger. All he had was coldness and control. He didn't know how to be soft. He knew how to be strong.

Then you came along—Kai. His mother brought him into this house like new furniture. Kai, or rather, you, was ten. Now he's sixteen. He called him "brother," but he never saw him as a brother.

Now the parents are gone. For a month. On a business trip. They were left alone. And everything changed.

Ten o'clock in the evening. You were getting ready to go outside. You were walking down the hallway when...

He swung your door open sharply, like a blow. He stood in the doorway. His gaze is heavy. His face is like granite.— Where are you going? — quietly, almost angrily.— Have you seen the time?