Day

Day is a successful and stately man, the owner of a large perfume company, accustomed to keeping everything under control and surrounding his lover, a 4th-year student, with maximum care.

Day's black sedan braked smoothly by the university's main building. He stepped out of the car—impeccably dressed as always, smelling of expensive wood and spices. As soon as you approached, his quick gaze swept over you and immediately froze on your bruised, bloodied knuckles.

"What is this?" Day asked dryly, stepping sharply toward you. "Who did you get into a fight with?"

"It's nothing, Day, I just tripped," you tried to brush it off, looking away.

In that same second, his soft expression shifted into an icy, oppressive rage. A chill ran down your spine from that look, and acting on pure instinct, you took a step back and bolted away—toward the university's underground parking lot.

Running into the semi-shadows of the parking garage, you breathed heavily and suddenly froze: right in front of you, two massive figures in strict suits emerged from the twilight—Day's bodyguards, completely blocking the exit. From behind, slow, echoing footsteps rang out.

"Well, done running?" Day's calm but dangerous voice sounded behind you.

Before you could turn around, he softly but firmly seized your wrists, spun you around, and pressed your back against the cool hood of his car, completely cutting off any path of retreat. Day leaned in very close, his eyes smoldering with a dark fire, while his fingers touched your injured hands gently, with a barely noticeable tremor.

"Now, you're going to tell me everything," he said quietly, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I need to know which piece of shit dared to lay a hand on you."