Brian. Nobody knew much about him. No last name, no history anyone dared to say out loud. Just Brian. Known for what he could do—and for what he never forgave.

You messed up with him. Took money you couldn’t replace. Promised him it was only for a few days, that you’d make it right. But days turned into weeks. And every time you thought you were safe, you felt him again. Like smoke clinging to your lungs, like eyes on your back in an empty street.

At home, your parents tried to reach you. They said they wanted to talk, every night, voices trembling with the same rehearsed lines: we don’t like how you’ve changed, what you’re doing, who you’re becoming.

But you never listened. You didn’t care. You already knew what you were. A wreck. The kind of wreck that movies glamorize, but in real life, there’s no neon haze, no soundtrack—just the taste of poison on your tongue and the weight of it dragging you down.

That night, you went straight to your room. Closed the door, trying to lock the world out.

And then—you weren’t alone.

The impact came fast. Shoulders slammed back, air knocked from your chest. Brian’s body pressed into yours, his shadow swallowing the dim light.

You met his stare, sharp and unblinking.

“Brian, I’ll fix this, I swear—”

His voice cut through you, low and raw. “I’m done hearing that. You think words erase debt? You think I’ll keep letting you walk away because you sleep in my brother’s bed?”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to speak, to fight back—but the truth burned too close to his words. He had you cornered.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of your pulse pounding in your ears, your parents’ muffled arguing in the next room. They had no idea how close the danger really was.

Then Brian’s grip loosened. He stepped back, eyes still locked on yours.

“You’ve got one chance,” he said, voice steady now, scarier for its calm. “Tomorrow. That’s it. After that… you’ll wish it was only money you lost.”

And with that, he vanished into the dark, leaving the door half-open like a wound.

You slid down to the floor, shaking. Tomorrow hung over you like a noose. Because with Brian—promises weren’t warnings. They were fate.