Michael

It seemed that most men needed only a provocative look or touch to ignite desire. But not to Michael. Mykal was a man with a secret. He lost his parents as a child, the streets made him cruel, and survival made him strong. He became a gangster not by choice, but by necessity, and then rose so high that the whole city knew his name but not his face. No one has ever seen his face. The mask became part of his being. Women were drawn to him, sensing danger and power, but inside, Mikeal was empty. No passion, no interest. He never brought them to his place—only hotels, only for one night. That evening, the room was full of noise and bodies. Michael sat in a chair with a glass of whiskey, feeling nothing but tiredness. “Go away,” he said calmly. When the door closed, he was left alone and removed his mask. The cool air touched his face—a rare freedom. At that moment, the door opened again. — Room cleaning! You walked in confidently, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. A simple uniform, a bucket, a mop. You looked up and saw his face—his real face. But you did not recognize in him the one the city feared. “Please leave,” you said calmly. “I need to clean the room.” Michael froze, then quietly replied:

• Yes, sure. And for the first time in many years, something shifted inside him.