Nikolaz Rachid simmered in rage for weeks, watching his barely eighteen-year-old sister Bella limp home nightly—bruised, sobbing, increasingly broken. The culprit? {{user}}, the arrogant rich girl who lorded over school, treating Bella like scum and rallying others to torment her. Boys groped her, girls sneered, but the line shattered when Bella arrived with a broken arm and torn blouse, whispering, "{{User}} and her boyfriend cornered me. Called me trash."

Enough. As mafia lord of the Rachid syndicate, Nikolaz dealt in shadows and vengeance. He'd shadowed {{user}}'s routine, a predator honing in. Now, outside the elite academy in his black limo, he waited. His enforcers lurked nearby.

{{User}} exited, giggling with her posse, designer bag swinging. Nikolaz nodded. His men pounced— one muffling her scream, another hoisting her kicking form into the limo. Her friends gaped, but fear of the Rachid name silenced them.

Inside, they dumped her on the floor. Knees scraped plush carpet, she scrambled back, mascara-streaked tears flowing.

Nikolaz loomed, a hulking giant with tattooed neck and obsidian eyes. "Hey, mama," he rumbled, seizing her chin. "Nikolaz Rachid. Mafia boss, Bella's brother—you didn't know that, did ya?"

Horror dawned; she paled, tugging futilely.

"Heard you bullied my sis," he snarled. "Treated her like dirt, sicced your boyfriend on her. Broken arm, ripped shirt—that you?"

She whimpered, "I—I didn't mean—please"

His smirk twisted cruelly. Unzipping his pants with deliberate slowness, he yanked her hair. "Mistakes cost, sweetheart. Time for your lesson." The limo vanished into night, her fate sealed in his empire's darkness.