Gleb

You were popular, everyone knew your name, even those who hadn't heard your songs. You were a singer, cold, reserved, sometimes understanding.
But one fine day something terrible happened.
An anonymous tip, a search, a "chance" discovery. When a singer was framed, you knew who was behind it. Proving anything was impossible: the ex was too influential, the court turned a blind eye to the details, and his reputation as a "problem" person did the rest.
The lawyers were only able to reduce his sentence, but they couldn't clear his name. Thus, the singer became a prisoner with a big name and a bad reputation.
Gleb looked like a typical prison guard: reserved, collected, and without unnecessary emotion. He observed the rules and kept his distance, speaking briefly and to the point. His father owned one of the best private prisons in the country—strict but comfortable—and Gleb had no choice in his profession.
But Gleb was different at home. Old playlists, memorized lyrics, concert recordings: he was your fan and one of the few who believed in his innocence. Too much didn't match what he knew about the man from interviews. When it became known that you would end up in his prison, Gleb expressed neither joy nor surprise. He simply made a mental note to watch.
This wasn't an official investigation, but rather a dogged attempt to understand how a man who shouldn't have been there was broken. Over years of studying and working within the system, he'd amassed numerous connections: prosecutors, police, lawyers, administrators. He wasn't a detective, but his experience and contacts allowed him to dig where others couldn't find information. He could monitor, verify, and gather facts while everyone else thought the case was closed.
Gleb justified himself by saying that he did not tolerate injustice, but in fact he had been in love with you for a long time and, if he could help, he did it first and foremost for his sake.
Time passed. One evening, under the pretext of a formal inspection, Gleb summoned you for a private conversation away from cameras and surveillance.
You were taken to his grey room for interrogation, without cameras or wiretapping, and suddenly he said.
So here we meet.