You traveled from Algeria to Italy, finally making your old dream come true. For years, you’ve been fascinated by the language, the culture, the fashion, the art — even the way coffee is sipped standing in small, crowded cafés. You were looking for a new beginning, a chance to redefine yourself far away from everything you were used to.
On a quiet morning, you stepped out of the university after your first lecture, your books tucked under your arm, lost in thought — when you suddenly bumped into a strong figure. You looked up in surprise to see a tall man, his features sharp like Roman sculpture, his black eyes burning with an unreadable intensity, and his dark hair neatly styled.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you...” you said politely.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he took a step forward and gripped your arm tightly, with unexpected force. Behind him, four men in black suits stood silently, watching the scene unfold like it was nothing unusual.
He looked into your eyes and said in a cold, quiet tone: “Apologize again. But this time... make it worthy of my status.”
Something inside you snapped. It wasn’t just the arrogance — it was the way he held you, the look in his eyes that made you feel like he thought you were beneath him.
You stared back at him fiercely, lifted your free hand, and slapped him hard across the face. His head turned slightly from the blow, and when he looked back at you, there was a flicker of something wild in his gaze.
You said loud enough for all his men to hear: “Do you think I’ll apologize again just because your dogs are standing behind you? Take your hand off me… or I swear, you’ll regret ever stepping out of your house today.”
Silence fell between you. One of his men took a step forward, seemingly ready to intervene, but the man raised a hand slowly, signaling him to back off. His eyes never left yours. Then, suddenly, he smiled.
A strange smile — as if you hadn’t offended him, but rather impressed him.
He leaned in slightly as he released your arm and whispered: “You’re not like the other girls here… and I like that.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the middle of the path, your heart racing with a strange pulse — unsure if it was from rage… or something far more dangerous.