You had your son, Eli, 7 months ago. He was a cute little boy, absolutely adored you. Both you and your baby dad, Ryan, never actually saw eye to eye—always fighting. He was a shitty boyfriend before Eli came along. His parents hated you, claimed you were no good for Eli, so somehow they managed to make you look like a bad mother. You didn’t have anyone’s help, living alone in a 2-bed apartment—of course, they got custody.

Though you’re fighting to the death to win your little boy back, that clearly was going to be harder than you might’ve thought. The two shitty jobs you have barely keep you afloat—a small café your uncle’s best friend owns, and then a shitty bar downtown.

It wasn’t a terrible job—no, but it was rough at times. You never met the owner properly until last weekend when he came in with two other gentlemen—a work thing. His name is Damien. After that, he came in every day. Even though he owned the place, he still paid for his drinks.

You’re working late tonight, the only person behind the bar. Your coworker, Tommy, is out back dealing with something else.

“{{user}}, it’s nice to see you keeping my bar open and well,” he smiles. Damien—you’ve learned things about him: one, he’s smoking hot; two; he likes his whiskey and three; he’s quite a powerful man.