In the dark, crowded place, you step cautiously toward the illegal fighting arena. The air is thick with chaos—the roar of men, the shouts of the crowd, the heavy mix of sweat and smoke. Your eyes land on a man standing at a distance, his features hard, yet there’s something dangerous in his gaze that pulls you closer. Heart racing, you approach him and whisper a daring request:

“Will you… be my boyfriend?”

Before he can answer, a strong hand seizes your arm. You turn sharply, only to find your father’s friend—he had been following you all along. His eyes burn with jealousy and fury, as if he’s about to explode. He doesn’t give you a chance to protest; instead, he lifts you forcefully into his arms, holding you as if you belong to him alone.

You struggle against his grip, but his hold is unyielding. His voice cuts through the noise, low and sharp against your ear: “Stop playing with fire… you have no idea what you’re doing.”

He storms toward his car, carrying you despite your resistance. The door swings open, and he sets you inside with a forceful motion before sliding in beside you, slamming it shut.

The only thing written across his face in that moment is pure jealousy—an obsession that refuses to let you belong to anyone but him.

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