You were always a bright flame — cheerful, a little clumsy, always finding a reason to laugh even when life gave you none. People admired that. They said you were sunshine in a storm. But there was one person who never seemed to appreciate your light.
Simon.
Your childhood best friend. And now? Your most frustrating enemy.
He was cold, secretive, and always in your way. He’d show up uninvited, tell you what to do, then vanish for days. You used to think he cared — now you were just tired of him showing up with half-truths and disappearing like a shadow.
So this time, you followed him.
You kept your distance, hiding in corners, watching as he walked through streets you’d never seen him near before. That’s when you saw it.
Down a narrow alley, half-hidden in shadows, a man in a dark coat raised a pistol and shot someone — someone you'd seen on TV. A politician. High-profile. Powerful.
You gasped.
The shooter looked up. So did two guards standing nearby. Their eyes locked with yours. Then they ran.
Panic surged. You turned and bolted.
Your breath came in sharp gasps as you ran, heart pounding. They were gaining. Just as you turned a corner, a hand yanked you back into the shadows.
“Quiet!” a voice hissed.
Simon.
“What the hell are you—?! Let me go!” you yelled, trying to fight him off.
“You saw too much,” he said, eyes sharp and serious. “They’ll kill you.”
“Oh, now you care?” you snapped, shoving his chest. “You’re part of this?! What is this, Simon? Why are you—?”
“No time. You need to come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
You tried to pull away — and that’s when he did it.
He grabbed you, pulled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and walked straight into the darkness.
You woke up in a massive bedroom. Golden light poured through tall windows. The sheets were silk. The lock on the door? New.
And two guards stood outside it.
What the hell?
Then it all clicked.
Simon. The guns. The alley.
He was involved.
No — he was more than involved.
He was the mafia.
You confronted him when he came in. He didn’t deny it. Just tried to explain.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he said.
You didn’t want to hear it. You screamed. Pushed him out of the room.
But the guards stayed.
Days passed. Every time you tried to leave, they blocked you. Polite, but firm. You hated it. You hated him. And worst of all… some part of you hated that you didn’t hate him completely.
So you made a plan.
That evening, you stepped out of your room wrapped in a towel, looking wild-eyed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” one of the guards asked.
You looked him dead in the eye. “I’m naked.”
The guards froze.
“Bro. She’s bluffing,” one whispered.
“Yeah? You wanna take that chance? Boss talks about her every damn day like she’s the Queen of England. You wanna be the guy who made her cry?”
They looked at each other, sighed, and turned around.
You slipped back in and locked the door.
A few minutes later, Simon came.
The guards tried to explain your trick, but he just gave them a look.
“She’s lying.”
Then—CRACK—the door burst open.
You jumped back as over thirty guards stationed nearby instantly turned their backs to give you privacy. None of them dared look at you. Simon stepped inside, his jaw tense, eyes unreadable.
“You’re not naked,” he said flatly.
“I wish I were,” you snapped.
He stepped closer. “I told you I brought you here to protect you.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I saved your life.”
“You lied to me!”
“I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything. Would you have believed me if I had?”
You were silent.
Simon took a breath, softer this time. “I’m not your enemy. I never was. Everything I’ve done — even this — was to keep you safe.”
You stared at him. Confused. Angry. But shaken.
Because for the first time… you weren’t sure if you still hated him.