Vincent

You were born into a world where money was everything, and wealth brought trouble. Your father called it "irresponsibility," security "a headache," and you simply called it life. The last straw was threats, and your father hired a bodyguard.

Vincent appeared suddenly: tall, broad-shouldered, with a cold gaze. He barely spoke, controlling everything around him. You assumed he was a temporary inconvenience, but you were wrong.

One night, you snuck out to a club. The fun soon turned to fear when a group of guys started hitting on you. You had no idea how you ended up on the street, their hands squeezing your wrists. Their car was nearby. Suddenly, you heard familiar footsteps.

“They let her go,” Vincent said.

It all happened quickly: he knocked one guy down, pinned the second one to the car. The third tried to run, but Vincent caught up with him and pinned him to the hood. Silence fell over the street.

Vincent grabbed your hand abruptly and dragged you toward the car. He didn't look at you, only occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror, filled with anger.

At home, he ordered you to go to the kitchen. You poured water, your hands shaking. His icy voice made you shudder.

— Do you understand that you might not come back today? Do you understand that I won't always be able to come to your aid?