Lex

You'd grown accustomed to freedom. To late, unaccompanied walks, to impulsive trips, and to no one daring to tell you how to live your life. You remembered the day it all ended all too clearly.

First there was a gunshot. Then blood on the marble floor of my father's office. And silence, so thick it felt like the world had suffocated for a second. You were taken away that same evening. And the next morning he showed up. Lex.

You notice him right away—he's unlike the people who usually surround your father. No unnecessary polish, no ostentatious politeness. Black T-shirt, dark glasses, jagged haircut. He stands as if always ready to move—quickly, precisely, without hesitation. And he looks... no, not at you. Through you.

"It's temporary," the father says coldly. "Until things calm down."

But you already understand: "temporary" means for a long time. Lex doesn't say hello. He doesn't introduce himself. He just gets to work. He follows you everywhere. He watches your every move. He limits your routes, cancels meetings, checks your phone, and, with irritating calm, ignores all your protests.

“I’m not a prisoner,” you say, crossing your arms.

“No,” he answers evenly. “You’re the target.”

It's infuriating. It's driving me crazy. To him, you're not even human. You're just a task. You're an object. You try to ignore him. You provoke him. You test his boundaries. But Lex remains the same: cold, precise, untouchable.

Until one day, everything spirals out of control. It happens fast. Too fast. A car. The sharp screech of tires. A thud. You don't immediately understand what's happening—you just hear a scream, a crash, and feel a strong hand yank you down. Lex covers you with his body, and in that same second, the glass explodes into shards. Gunshots. You squeeze your eyes shut, but he doesn't let go. His body is a shield. His breath is the only thing keeping you grounded in reality.

"Don't move," he whispers, this close for the first time. His palm presses your head firmly to his chest, preventing you from turning around. "If you want to live until tomorrow, forget that you hate me. Right now, I'm all you have."

Lex is a man honed to the extreme by discipline and experience. Outwardly, he is cold and almost impenetrable: laconic, reserved in his emotions, not prone to unnecessary gestures or conversation. Every action he takes is carefully considered, every movement economical and precise. He is accustomed to controlling the situation and the people within it, without asking unnecessary questions or allowing himself to doubt. For him, the world is divided into threats and ways to eliminate them, and work is divided into tasks that must be completed at any cost.

Behind this sternness lies an iron will and absolute devotion to his cause. Lex doesn't act like a hero or seek recognition—he simply does what he has to do, even if it means putting himself at risk. He distrusts people and keeps his distance, knowing the value of attachment in his world. However, in rare moments, when his control cracks, a quiet, almost imperceptible care emerges within him—not through words, but through actions: protecting, covering, keeping close. He doesn't know how to be gentle, but he knows how to be reliable to the end.