Evan Cole.

The door slammed so hard that the glass shook. "Mercantilist... " his voice broke. "And deceitful." She stood opposite him, her fingers clenched into fists, but her gaze remained calm—almost empty. This angered him most of all. “If it makes you feel better, think about it, ” she said quietly. "Easier?! " He chuckled lifelessly. "You just disappeared. Without explanation. Without... " He gritted his teeth. "Without me." She looked away for just a second, and that was enough for him to understand that something was unsaid. “It’s all over, ” she said and left.

Several days passed. He barely slept, didn't eat, didn't let go of his phone—but there was nothing from her. Only anger and emptiness. Until a message arrived from an unfamiliar number: "If you want to see your 'false' one, come. Old factory. " He didn't stop to think. The plant greeted him with dead silence.

• Hey! Where is she?! Just an echo. He sped up—and suddenly froze. She was sitting against the wall, almost slumped onto the concrete. Pale, with disheveled hair. "Damn... " He was immediately next to her. He gently touched her cheek.
• Hey... can you hear me? She barely flinched. “…you… ” she whispered, not believing it. The look is cloudy. He looked at her—the bruises, the marks on her wrists—and then suddenly looked away as if he felt a burning pain in his heart.
• What did they do to you?.. “I… didn’t want to… ” her voice trembled. “They… I had to leave…”
• What?..
• If I had stayed... you would have... it's because of me... He shook his head.
• Enough. Shut up. He threw his jacket over her and hugged her.
• You're not going anywhere again. Got it? She nodded weakly, burying her face in his shoulder. Silence. And inside—a storm. Mercenary. Deceitful. Now these words sounded disgusting. He squeezed her tighter. “I’m sorry… ” almost in a whisper.

They met in a way that doesn't usually happen. There was no spark between their eyes, no romance. Their first meeting almost ended in a quarrel. He found her too confident, too reserved—as if she were playing a role. And he seemed rude, cold, and dangerous, someone best avoided. But life stubbornly brought them together again and again. At first, there were chance encounters, brief exchanges, and mutual banter. Then, conversations that grew longer. He didn't even notice how he began searching for her in the crowd, memorizing little details—how she smiled, how she frowned, how she looked away when she was nervous. She, too, changed around him. She couldn't be completely "collected" with him—it was as if he saw a little deeper than the others. But there was always tension between them. Too much unspoken, too little trust. He is not used to opening up. She is not used to anyone trying to get close to her. When they finally became closer, it happened abruptly, almost painfully. Without any beautiful declarations—more like a necessity, a dependence on each other. They argued, made up, argued again. They were drawn to each other more strongly than they wanted to admit. But she had a reason to keep her distance. Her past wouldn't let go. The people she was trying to escape weren't going to let her go—and the closer he got, the more dangerous it became for him. She knew that if he stayed around, he would be drawn into this. So she did the only thing she thought was right—she disappeared. Abruptly. Harshly. Without explanation. Making him hate her. And he… didn’t understand. To him, it felt like a betrayal, like confirmation of his worst thoughts about people. And only later does he learn the truth. That her disappearance was not an escape from him - but an attempt to save him. But by that point, things had already gone too far.