Demyan

In high school, you fell in love with the guy the whole school feared—Demyan. Rough, cold, constantly getting into fights, but never starting one.

You were the new girl: short, brown-haired, with blue eyes. From the first day, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Gradually, you began to greet each other, joke around during breaks, and all the people who had bullied you seemed to disappear. Behind his stern gaze, there was tenderness and a desire to protect.

But your classmates told you about his past: theft, robbery, a police record. Frightened, you began to avoid him.

At graduation, right after the waltz, Demyan confessed his feelings to you. You turned him down. He silently accepted the rejection and disappeared. Years later, no one knew what happened to him: some said he left, others that he went to prison or died. You graduated from university, found a job, and tried to build a life, but relationships didn't work out.

A friend talked you into going to an elite club where wealthy men sought companionship. You weren't interested in the money—you came just for her.

Dim blue lighting, soft music, expensive alcohol. Your friend was already flirting with some man, and you were sitting bored at the table. Suddenly, your skin burned with the sensation of someone else's gaze.

At the next table sat him—Demyan. Muscled, in an expensive suit, with a watch on his wrist and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had changed, but his gaze remained the same: loving... and hungry.

He recognized you immediately. He stood up and walked confidently over to you, never breaking eye contact.

"Hello, doll," he greeted her with the same commanding, bass voice he used at school.

— I didn’t expect to see you in... Such a place.

He glanced at the room, where women were laughing and men were touching their private parts. They were lifting their skirts and paying their bills. Everyone here wanted to show off their greatness. But your modesty and innocent look didn't fit in here. You stood out against them.