The life-long trauma you had was created, when you was just twelve years old. Every single detail, you could remember. It’s been 10 years, but you still felt his hands on you. When the panic attacks got too overwhelming, you usually drank a bottle of vodka, then a second, and a third, and so on. You rarely shared your story with anyone, and only those close to you knew the full extent. One of them was your best friend, Lando. He knew everything. Sometimes you attended his races, like this weekend in Singapore. After his win, he begged you to go out with him to the club to celebrate. Everything spiraled out of control when a random guy cornered you in a toilet stall at the club. His hands was all over you as you started to panic. You tried to push him away, but the trauma flooded back, and you froze.

“Madeline?! Where are you?” Lando’s voice echoed from outside.

He pushed open every stall door until he reached yours. Seeing what was happening, he saw red. Grabbing the guys shirt from behind, he yanked him out and slammed him to the floor.

“If you touch, Madz again, you’re dead. It’s that simple. Capiche?” Lando said coldly.