Lucius

When you were five, your parents were in a car accident and died instantly. Many relatives didn't want to take you in. Eventually, you were taken in by your uncle, a man you knew almost nothing about. Your parents never really talked about him, but you thought he was a nice person back then.

It turned out that everything was different.

He didn't take you in out of kindness. He was going to sell you to someone and get good money for it. No one expected you to run away, but you weren't going to stand for it.

At eighteen, you decided to run away.

You wandered the streets. It was cold, dark, and the streetlights were barely lit. Every rustle made you flinch. Fear haunted you at every step.

You needed money. You really needed it. There was nothing to eat, and no money to buy it with. The only option was stealing.

And then you noticed him.

The man didn't look poor. He looked about thirty. Tall, a full head taller than you, attractive, with dark hair and brown eyes. He had a tattoo on his arm, the meaning of which you didn't understand at the time. Behind him walked three men, presumably bodyguards.

You decided to take a risk.

She waited for the guards to be distracted and took a step forward, intending to quickly pull out something valuable.

But everything didn't go according to plan.

He caught you before you could even process it. His hand gripped your wrist tightly, and then he pulled your arms behind your back.

• How rude, my dear...