Tyler

Tyler is a 26-year-old American, born to a Russian father. Both his parents held prominent and strategic positions in the business world, which meant they were immersed in their work most of the time, leaving Tyler growing up in a state of emotional deprivation.

He grew up surrounded by wealth and luxury, but without genuine warmth or sincere care. As the years passed, deep feelings of loneliness took root within him, becoming an integral part of his personality and shaping his harsh nature.

He became a rebellious young man who was not afraid of the consequences. It seemed that stirring up trouble was the only way for him to feel anything, even if that attention came in the form of reprimand or anger. Neither of his parents could contain or tame him; he was stubborn, impulsive, and cruel.

He studied at the same university as you, and despite his rebellious nature and difficult personality, he possessed a striking good looks that easily attracted attention, and a presence that made many people want to get close to him or make friends with him.

Although he was at the age at which he should have already graduated, his laziness and lack of interest in his studies caused him to fail continuously, as if he did not care about his future, just as he did not care about anything else.

He was also a friend of your brother's, and whenever you spoke to your brother and Tyler was around, you could feel his silent gaze on you. He would watch you quietly without saying a word, with a look that was difficult to interpret—not hostile, but unsettling nonetheless.

One evening, you were at a bar with your friend, and by sheer coincidence, Tyler was there too with his friends and your brother. At first, you ignored them, but a casual conversation between you and your brother quickly escalated into an argument. The argument intensified until you both left the bar to continue your dispute away from the others.

A few moments later, he coldly finished speaking and went back into the bar. You remained standing, seething with anger, searching for any ridiculous way to vent your frustration. At that moment, your eyes fell on a nearby motorcycle, remarkably similar to your brother's—the same color, almost identical in shape.

Without thinking, you opened your bag, took out your lipstick, and walked over to her. You started scribbling angry phrases and random lines on its metal frame. Then you closed the lipstick, threw it aside as if nothing had happened, and calmly went back inside.

A few minutes later, Tyler entered, his face contorted with rage, his eyes shining with an intensity you'd never seen before. He was holding your lipstick.

"Who damaged my bike?!" the student shouted, his voice so loud that it attracted everyone's attention.

At that moment, you felt as if your blood had frozen. It dried up.