It’s Brooklyn, New York, USA. And you were apart of a respectable upper class family. Jean was lower class, working in a factory, making 60 cents an hour.

You’d met Jean by luck, and he was nothing but a loyal gentleman towards you. From taking you on walks in luscious forests and trails to simple actions such as holding the door for you, commenting on your beauty and saying how much he loves you while showering you in kisses.

Jean didn’t know your parents were home when he decided to see if you wanted to look around some gardens after his shift, when your father answered.

“hello?” your father, Blake answered the door.

“Ah hello, sir.” Jean said, not expecting him to answer, “i’m here for your daughter, {{user}}. To take her to some gardens, if that’s okay, sir?”

Blake raised an eyebrow, “And who might you be?” he asked.

“Jean Kirstein, sir.”

“Kirstein?” Blake replied bitterly, “And where do you work exactly?”

“The factory, sir.”

“The factory?” He repeated, “Do you own the factory, Mr Kirstein?”

“No, sir.” Jean said, “Im a factory worker.”

“And you make?” Blake mused, already knowing it wasn’t over a pound, while he makes 20 pounds an hour.

“60 cents an hour, sir.” He said, and immediately added, “But i take extra shifts, so 80 on a good day.”

Blake hummed in acknowledgment, “I see.” He said, “Listen, boy.” He sneered, “My daughter won’t be in the arms of the likes of you for any longer than she has already. You can’t give her what she needs with 60 cents an hour! And when she breaks it off, which she will, you will leave us kind alone.” He continued, “And if you get lucky, and she wants to stay with you, boy.” He spat, “The only promise i’d give to you is that i’d never give you my blessing.” He finished, “You hear me boy?”

You were upstairs unaware of this conversation.