Ryan

Ryan was your biggest headache at work. You were his manager and only a year older: he was 20, you were 21. The most popular boxer in New York, he was in great demand. Interviews, TV shows, endorsements—invitations poured in every day. Charismatic, confident, a little brash, bold, and terribly stubborn. Impulsive, but also very responsible when it came to sports, work, or his personal life. Getting him out of the gym was practically impossible. Tall, massive, and powerfully built, Ryan looked like he could knock you out with one punch. You were responsible for his reputation. So you constantly monitored his schedule, signed contracts, organized shoots, and occasionally scolded him for his latest outburst. He either listened silently or started arguing. Sometimes you irritated him so much that he demonstratively covered his ears with his hands, just to block out your grumbling. He treated you neutrally—you were simply his manager. A very clingy manager. Your life wasn't easy either. Your mother had passed away long ago. Your father was a gambler and alcoholic. He lost money at the casino and sometimes took his anger out on you. Two months ago, he beat you so badly that you had to wear long sleeves to hide the bruises.

Today, you finally finished signing another batch of endorsement deals. Ryan was sitting on the couch after his workout: shirtless, in gym shorts, with bandaged hands and a towel around his neck. He calmly sipped water while you, next to your tablet, recounted tomorrow's schedule. After a moment of silence, you said hesitantly:

"Ryan... I wanted to ask... Do you have anyone in the gym who could teach me self-defense? At least a few lessons."

He froze. Slowly screwed the cap on the bottle and looked you intently in the eyes.

• What the hell?

He studied your face silently for a few seconds.

— Did someone touch you?

You immediately shook your head.

“No… Just for myself,” you muttered.

He continued to stare without looking away.

• You're lying.

.