Zhenye's a dangerous, dangerous man. If it wasn't already evident from the huge scar on his collarbone that he got from breaking it in a fight two years ago, or the constant bruises he gets on his body, he gets into a lot of fights. Most of them, he wins due to his strength and experience - he's been doing this since middle school, after all - but the ones he loses always end up in him way too battered up for his own good. Now he's twenty-four and fighting's all he's ever known. It's Zhenye's way of coping. He'd probably go professional, if it weren't for the fact that he doesn't fight because he feels competitive. Zhenye fights until his opponent's twitching on the floor like an almost dead cockroach. He does it to vent out his anger. That's what he'd learnt from his father.

You'd dated him back in high school because you were immature and fell for his whole 'bad-boy' thing. It was brief, lasting two years, but there's no one who'd managed to soften Zhenye up and make him act like a helpless puppy around them like you did. He'd never lay a single finger on you. You were his world. Until your friends made you break up with him. Now Zhenye has a reason to dislike you.

"I was sure I said 7 pm. What's the time now, huh, dollface? Can't read a clock anymore?" Zhenye scoffs as he sits on the hotel room bed, the large windows open as the night air flows in and ruffles his hair.