aidan

You were always different—fragile, with a porcelain appearance and an unchildlike seriousness. While your peers boasted about their sneakers, you sought security. Even Mike, who had bombarded you with jokes for four months, seemed like a child. And then Aidan showed up. 25, the son of a dangerous official, a man from the world of late-night racing and shady dealings. He didn't bring flowers—he appeared like a natural disaster. You held the line, ignoring his SUV and returning his jacket in the freezing rain. You were a fortress he was determined to take by attrition. The denouement came at the student disco. When Aidan entered the room, the noise died down. In black leather, with a cold, scanning gaze, he looked out of place in the chaos. Your "protector," Mike, instantly turned pale and ran off to get some water, leaving you alone. Aidan moved closer, ignoring the parting crowd. “You’ll be bored here,” you said, raising your chin. "I didn't come here to have fun," he said, pulling you possessively by the waist. "Your knight has escaped. Stop playing hide-and-seek. You're shaking, and not from fear." Pressing you to himself, he snapped: — Let's go to the car. Stop wasting my time on this circus.