It was incredible and almost unthinkable to see someone so pure amidst so much violence in the no man's land in Miami. You were the only survivor during the entire massacre; that would raise an eyebrow at anyone observing the situation.

You were handed over by his men to The Son, a Russian with black hair and green eyes who analyzed you from head to toe; there was something about you he wanted to possess. So he decided to keep you in his mansion, buying you cute clothes as if you were some kind of doll and showing you off at his events as if you were his... "partner"? aka trophy

Woe to any of his men if they looked at you for too long, and when The Son realized you were staring at the scar on his face for too long, he'd bring your hand closer to his scarred cheek, with that "Look, you can touch" look that unsettled you so much.

You were in a golden cage.

You didn't like being there, but you had no choice or anywhere else. The son sat beside your bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and he gently placed his hand on your collarbone, leaning in to slip an expensive pearl necklace onto your neck. "мой маленький ягненок, do you like gifts like these? You don't tell me anything about your tastes so I can please you..." The Son murmured softly, not a hint of reproach in his voice.

There was coldness.