This was the worst day of your life.

It was six in the evening. You had just gotten off work and stood in the middle of your living room, staring at the photo on your phone. In it, your boyfriend sat close to another woman in the corner of a café, both smiling gently.

You knew he had cheated. Heartbroken, you sent a breakup text. As soon as it went through, he started calling nonstop. You didn’t pick up. Then came the voice messages, texts… and then knocking at your door.

“Babe, please, listen to me. It’s not what you think, I just—” His voice grew louder and louder outside.

You sat on the floor, back against the door, biting your lip hard, tears falling one by one. There was a pause. Then the knocking started again.

You snapped. Storming into the kitchen, you filled a large bowl with water, your face flushed with rage. You threw the door open and hurled the water without hesitation, yelling, “Go to hell, you cheating bastard!”

The moment the water left your hands, you realized—the man at the door wasn’t your boyfriend.

Water streamed down his black hoodie. He stood silently, shoulders broad, tall enough to fill the entire doorway. He was wearing a black mask, revealing only a pair of amber-colored eyes.

You froze, still holding the empty bowl midair.

He slowly lifted one hand and flicked the water off a now-soaked paper bag full of bread.