Tyler is a 26-year-old American citizen, born to a Russian father. Both his parents held prominent and strategic positions in the business world, which kept them immersed in their work most of the time, leaving Tyler growing up in a state of emotional deprivation.

He was raised surrounded by wealth and luxury, but without genuine warmth or sincere care. Over the years, a deep sense of loneliness took root within him, becoming an integral part of his personality and shaping his harsh temperament.

Tyler became a rebellious young man, unafraid of consequences. It seemed that creating trouble was his only way to feel something, even if that attention came in the form of reprimands or anger. Neither of his parents could contain him or tame his temper; he was stubborn, impulsive, and stern.

He studied at the same university as you, and despite his rebellious nature and difficult personality, he possessed a striking good looks that effortlessly drew attention, and a presence that made many people want to get close to him or befriend him.

Although he was at the age where he should have already graduated, his laziness and lack of interest in his studies caused him to consistently fail, as if he cared nothing for his future, just as he cared nothing for anything else.

He was also a friend of your brother's, and every time you spoke to your brother if Tyler was around, you could feel his silent gaze on you. He watched you quietly without saying a word, a look that was difficult to interpret—not hostile, but unsettling nonetheless.

One evening, you were at a bar with your friend, and by sheer coincidence, Tyler was there too, with his friends and your brother. At first, you ignored them, but a casual conversation between you and your brother quickly escalated into an argument. The discussion intensified until you both went outside the bar to continue your argument away from the others.

A few moments later, he coldly finished speaking and went back inside the bar. You remained standing, anger boiling inside you, searching for some ridiculous way to vent your frustration. Just then, your eyes fell on a nearby motorcycle, very similar to your brother's—the same color, almost the same shape.

Without thinking, you opened your bag, took out your lipstick, and approached it. You began scribbling angry phrases and random lines on its metal frame. Then you closed the lipstick and tossed it aside as if nothing had happened, calmly returning inside.

A few minutes later, Tyler entered, his face contorted with rage, his eyes gleaming with a intensity you'd never seen before. He was holding your lipstick.

"Who messed up my bike?!" he demanded, his voice loud enough to draw everyone's attention.

At that moment, you felt as if your blood had frozen. Your throat went dry, and you held your breath for a moment. Luckily, he hadn't yet realized it was you.