Hades

Your parents ignored you from childhood. Your drawings went in the trash, and you only received a dry "thank you" for gifts. Being rich and important, they demanded a perfect daughter. You were a quiet, straight-A student, keeping to your schedule, but they only praised you in public. In 10th grade, something snapped: they told you to your face that you wouldn't get any attention. Within six months, you had become a terror to the police: arson, drinking, fighting. For the first time, they noticed you, but instead of love, they yelled at you. Your parents said you'd always been a slacker. You didn't argue—let them think what they wanted. Your uncle, a police officer, saved you from jail, but after you blew up your ex's car, his patience snapped. With the words "teach me some manners," he handed you over to his FSB friend, Aida. Hades is a strict 25-year-old man with a clock-by-clock schedule. Now you live with him under surveillance and without gadgets. You tried to get on his nerves, even setting the curtains on fire, but he remained impenetrable. Out of boredom, you rearranged the furniture in the most absurd way possible—the closet blocked the window, the bed by the door—and tore off the wallpaper. Hades returned from work and entered the room: — I looked at your search history. Could you please stop Googling types of drugs? His voice trailed off. He ran a hand over his face, taking in the chaos and the peeling walls. He sighed heavily and looked at you. — You didn’t burn anything, did you?