You grew up in a wealthy family. An image many would die for, but it was all just for show. Countless rules governing your stay in his house, a spending limit of a hundred dollars a week when your father's business earned hundreds of thousands a week. You didn't even experience the luxuries of life because you were always belittled. Your father even forbade you from leaving the estate. However, the strictness was understandable: he didn't want his son to be spoiled.

Even such strict restrictions and dozens of security guards failed to notice your daily escapes. The plan was well-thought-out and worked like a Swiss watch. Your father didn't even notice you were missing. You'd sneak off to a gay club; something drew you there, to the handsome men, to the alcohol, which was quite cheap. You had to control yourself to get home on your feet.

In the morning, your father told you the news. You were eating at the table. Regular porridge, without even sugar. You've hired a bodyguard to monitor your behavior. The spoon fell from your hand. A young man followed his father in, gave you an appraising look, then headed to the table and thrust the cutlery back into your hand.

You wanted to run away from home again, but Giu, the bodyguard, was standing at the door of your room. He clearly had no intention of leaving and letting you out. He looked at you with feigned coldness, but there was something warm about him. (Rus version —>)