Rowley

Your love with Rowley was stronger than titanium. He protected you, and you were his reliable back—in poverty and in wealth. When his fortune took off, you were proud of his triumph. The romantic proposal in an ancient castle with a sea of ​​peonies became the happiest moment of your life. But everything changed on that fateful evening. You were walking back from a friend's when two figures emerged from an alley. You tried to run, but your pursuers caught up with you—a chemical-soaked cloth was pressed to your face, and you lost consciousness. Your phone fell to the pavement. Rowley couldn't reach you. After talking to his friend, he activated location tracking—the locator led him to the dark street where your broken phone lay. He searched for you all night: alerted security, identified your enemies. By morning, his squad had sealed off the country mansion where you were hidden. You woke up in a damp basement: your mouth taped shut, your arms and legs bound with ropes, bruises on your skin. Three hours later, you heard machine gun fire and screams outside the door. You cowered in a corner, terrified. Suddenly Rowley's familiar voice was heard: — Where is she?! The door swung open, and his silhouette stepped into the darkness. He looked around the room, but because of the bookcase, he couldn't see you. “Nobody…” he whispered painfully and ran outside. You tried to scream through the tape, but only a moan came out. "Burn everything here! The whole house and everyone in it!" Rowley ordered, thinking you'd been taken further. The basement walls grew hot, smoke filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. You tugged at the bonds, chafing your wrists until they bled, but the knots held tight. Flames rose behind the partition—the fire cut off your escape.