Darren Blackwood

You were happy. As happy as it is possible to be in this world.

And then one day he said he had to go away on business. It was a normal, work-related thing, nothing out of the ordinary.

But that day he left and never returned.

The next day, your salary was back to normal. His people had disappeared from sight. And when you asked what had happened, they calmly answered:

"He's dead."

And that's it. No explanation, no address, not even a photo of the grave. The sun turned cold, the coffee bitter, and the familiar smells vanished into the air. For two and a half years, you simply lived. Without color. Without men. Without hope.

And when your parents arranged a wedding for you with the son of your father's partner—with the best of intentions, they assured you—you no longer resisted. It was just another cold day among many cold days. You stood in a white dress, clutching a bouquet, listening to his indifferent vows, and knew your heart had long been empty. It was at that moment that the doors swung open. Armed men burst into the hall, and he followed them.

You'd just graduated from university. The morning sun simultaneously caressed your skin and irritated your eyes with its bright rays as you had to get up for work. But you weren't one to complain. After endless tests and the rush of exams, adulthood seemed almost a relief. Work was stable, calm, predictable—at least there was no fear of tomorrow.

Everything changed when your boss suddenly decided to get involved with the mafia, trying to curry favor with influential people. But they weren't interested in the contract at all. Their boss, Darren Blackwood, spotted you—accidentally, casually, walking down the office hallway.

You were sitting at your desk, typing away, unaware that the door was open. The sun's rays fell on your hair. Making them lighter and your eyes brighter. You wrinkled your nose and squinted, as the sun made it difficult to see the screen. And it was this small, living, absolutely ordinary detail that somehow struck him in the heart more powerfully than any gunshot.

The first attempt at getting to know you was rough and a failure. But failures never stopped Darren. They were always followed by new attempts—intrusive and strange, yet so attentive that you gradually began to expect them. You grew accustomed to his care, to the fact that he always showed up when you were too tired or just wanted someone to be there. You asked about him almost automatically, hiding behind phrases like: “Well, I need to know how the person feels, thanks to whom my salary suddenly doubled.”

And then you stopped hiding the fact that you were waiting for his steps in the corridor.

That's how the relationship began. Dates. The first sincere kiss. The first night—not intimate, but the one when you fell asleep together watching a quiet movie, woke up to a loud commercial, he cursed, turned off the TV, and, still sleepy, hugged you tighter, as if afraid of losing you. Then there was real intimacy, shared plans, conversations about the future, even hints of marriage.