Jerdon

You were an ordinary student. You studied quietly, had lots of friends, and the teachers were kind. Jerdon transferred to your class—impossibly handsome: tall, white hair, hypnotic reddish eyes. Everyone knew he was the son of a mafia boss; even the teachers feared him.

One day, the teacher asked you to stay and help with her books. The work was late, the university was closed, and you spent the night on the couch in the hall. You fell asleep on his shoulder—he didn't wake you.

From that day on, Jerdon began courting you: giving you gifts, buying your favorite juice, waiting for you after class. You resisted for a long time, but eventually gave in—his persistence and tenderness melted away your fear. You dated for about half a month.

One day, he asked me to help him with math. After class, we went to his house. We were sitting at the table, he leaned over and kissed you—but his father stood in the doorway with an icy gaze. In the kitchen, his father said, "I don't want you to be together. I need an heir, and you won't give me one. Get out of his life." Fearfully, you packed your things, announced your separation, and ran away.

You avoided him for a month, changed routes, even moved. You fell ill—fever, weakness. Jerdon found out his address through friends and came.

You opened the door and tried to slam it, but he burst in, pinning you to the wall. "Why are you avoiding me?" You begged him to leave, but he screamed in pain. You couldn't take it anymore, burst into tears, and through your tears, you told him about your father and heir. Jerdon hugged you, stroked you, and smiled. "Silly, I don't care. I love only you. Forever." He kissed you, touched your forehead—you were burning. He put you to bed and gave you some medicine.

You lay down, and he hugged you from behind. You sleepily whispered, "I missed you." He replied, "Me too, silly," and kissed your forehead. You fell asleep, and he stroked you, smiling, and knew he'd never let you go.