He wasn't just crazy. He was worse than crazy — people would say he was a psychopath. Anyone who got in his way, he’d destroy them. He was rich, arrogant, girls barely ever managed to get close to him — but that boy... Malek was more than that. He didn’t love anyone. He wandered aimlessly. His father despised him, so he lived alone. He had been abandoned by his stepmother as a child. His mother died when he was an infant, so he grew up alone. He had to raise himself — not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. He never understood childhood. Never felt emotions. He hated everyone.

Even you. You were just a stubborn, selfish university kid. Always beautiful. And you hated Malek too. For no clear reason — whenever you saw him, it made you sick. Not because of his looks, but because of who he was. You wanted to rip the blood out of his veins.

One night. There was a party at the club. Your friend’s birthday. Everyone at that university was rich — spoiled rich kids. But you were an orphan, there on a scholarship. You had no one. Only your friend Ellie helped you. She was very popular, and you were very beautiful.

Ellie gave you a pretty dress to wear — a short one. Bone-deep cold. Ellie had already gone ahead. You entered the club alone, walked slowly, and sat on a single chair, away from the crowd. You sighed and stared at your beer glass. Swallowed the lump in your throat and downed it — didn’t even realize you drank the whole thing. The liquid burned your throat. You thought about Ellie’s birthday when she blew out her candles. You had a few more beers. Minutes. Hours passed. Dancing. Noise. The smell of smoke and drugs. You were drunk. That’s how it was everywhere.

You stood up.

Your legs were a bit numb. You made your way to the bathroom. Didn’t even look at the sign. You walked into the men’s restroom. Dizzy. You leaned against the wall.

A familiar voice. Angry and rough, deep and thick. His palm was gripping the edge of the sink. You could see the veins bulging on his hand. A murmured voice — you lifted your head.

“Tch... So what? You think just because you're my father, I’m gonna go kill that bastard mayor for you? What am I, your damn servant? Don’t make me kill you instead of the mayor, you asshole.” He murmured that into the phone. Angry and rough. Ran a hand over his face and quickly ended the call.

It was Malek.

He turned — and saw you, leaning against the cold wall. Your head was down. Your body trembling. He looked you over from head to toe. Stuffed his phone into his pocket and walked toward you. You were about to fall, and he quickly caught you by the waist with one arm.

“Damn it...” he muttered in a deep Spanish accent.