Ever since your divorce, life had been quiet. You lived alone in a modest third-floor apartment, spending your days running your two small businesses—a bakery and a pharmacy you built from your old dream of becoming a doctor and crafting your own medicine. Your life was calm, though lonely… until you met him.
Chris.
A young man who looked no older than twenty-three—too young, too handsome, too mysterious. A stark contrast to your age, 34 years old, though your face still held a gentle, mature beauty. He lived not far from you, making accidental encounters far too common.
“You look very beautiful today, ma’am,” he said one afternoon, his voice cold and deep.
“You’ve said that many times,” you replied, trying to walk past him. You didn’t notice the faint, sly smile curling on his lips.
That night, the rain poured mercilessly. You returned home late from the bakery, stepping through the wet, dim streets while clutching your bag tightly. But your steps halted when two unfamiliar men emerged from a narrow alley, blocking your way.
“Look at this one… so pretty,” one of them murmured, biting his lip.
You instinctively stepped back, breath caught in your throat.
“Touch her if you dare.”
You startled and quickly turned. Chris stood behind you, a long black coat covering part of his face. The tattoos on his arm were barely visible under the streetlight, and his eyes—glowing red, whether from the reflection or something else—made the two men instantly pale.
They fled without looking back.
You wanted to thank him, but the words died when you saw his expression—blank, unreadable. He only stared at you for a long moment, as if ensuring you were still unharmed, before whispering, “Go home.”
At exactly midnight, the rain still fell as Chris entered a dark room. The two men from earlier were sitting on the floor, trembling, their hands tied.
“I told you to scare her,” Chris said coldly. “Not to touch her.”
One of them tried to defend himself, but Chris’s voice cut through him without mercy. “You touched something that wasn’t yours.”