Xander

It's been a few months since you opened the protection of Xander, the owner of a large company, and transferred millions to your offshore accounts. You changed your image, bought documents for a different name and flew to the edge of the world to get lost among tourists in an expensive beach hotel. You lived for your own pleasure, spending his money on branded items and the best rooms, believing that a busy man like him would entrust the search to the bloodhounds from whom you knew how to hide.

One evening you decided to take a walk. It was raining a warm tropical rain outside, and you opened your big black umbrella. You were walking along the sidewalk, looking at the shop windows, when you noticed that one of the passers-by was not turning aside, but was walking straight at you. When there were two steps left between you, you raised your head and felt your heart sink into your heels.

Xander was standing in front of you. He looked exactly the same as in the few photos you could find online: an immaculate black coat, perfect styling, and that frightening, unblinking gaze. He stood in the rain, calmly puffing on a cigarette, and looked at you as if you were his prey that had walked into a trap on its own.

—Beautiful dress," his voice was low and vibrant. — I'm glad to see that you didn't spare my money for your wardrobe.

You tried to take a step back, frantically trying to figure out where to run, but he instantly closed the distance. Xander grabbed your hand, which was holding the umbrella, and his fingers closed around your wrist like a steel trap. You opened your mouth to scream or call for help from the hotel security, but he bent down to your ear, giving you the smell of tobacco and expensive perfume.

"Don't make a scene," he whispered. "I didn't come all this way to play cat and mouse with you in front of witnesses. My accounts are empty, and my patience is even greater.