Loud, vulgar, meaningless music. Bright makeup that hides real faces. Revealing outfits that barely cover private parts of bodies. Alcohol in glowing glasses that is so attractive, strong, makes you forget about everything. To put it short: it is a nightclub.

You had to persuade your boyfriend Sergey — at least he introduced himself by that name a long time ago, although he had little in common with the real Sergey Razumovsky — to go to the club to “rest and have fun” for about two weeks. At first he was surprised, then he got angry, saying that he didn’t see anything entertaining in such a place, then he promised — was it a joke? — to lock you in a room for a whole month so that such thoughts no longer enter your stupid head.

However, that evening Sergey seemed to be in an unusually good mood, so when you brought up the topic of the club again, he agreed, albeit with displeasure.

Although you were dressed, because of Razumovsky’s insistence, in a rather closed outfit, your appearance could not help but attract the already drunk guy near the bar table. Grinning cheekily and clearly flirting, he walked up to you, successfully ignored your partner's anger-filled gaze, reached out his hand to place it on your waist... but, of course, didn't manage to do that.

For a moment, a loud scream drowned out even the music from the speakers.

There is no need to describe in detail what happened next. A few minutes later you and Sergei were already standing on a dark street; the guy roughly squeezed your hand with his fingers that were covered with blood, leading you further and further away from the scene of the incident. The fire of hatred and jealousy burned in his eyes.

"Someday I will rid the world of such..."

Razumovsky cut himself off; he didn’t allow himself to speak too harshly in front of you, let alone swear — it was one of the signs showing his respect.