Chapter One - Eye contact!
Melodic music drifted through the warehouse, low and slow, echoing faintly off concrete walls stained with old secrets. The kind of music that didn't belong in places like this-and that was exactly why Michael liked it.
"You've got what's mine?"
Michael didn't raise his voice. He never needed to. He stood with his hands in his coat pockets, posture relaxed, eyes sharp as they swept over the room and finally landed on Nate.
Nate swallowed.
"Yes," he said quickly. "Nicotine. Heroin. Cocaine. Tar."
Michael tilted his head slightly, studying him. "All of them?"
"Yeah," Nate replied, forcing a grin. "The four you love the most."
Michael smirked and stepped forward, placing a worn black duffel bag on the table between them. "Great. Put 'em in the bag. This bag."
Nate hesitated as he reached for the packages, his fingers tightening around the sealed containers. He glanced up. "But Rick-you know you never pay up right."
Michael laughed softly, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, Nate, pal. I will. Eventually."
Eventually.
Nate exhaled through his nose. He'd heard that word too many times. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you these unless you pay up for the others first."
Michael stopped smiling.
The air shifted. Even the music felt quieter.
"How much do I owe you?" Michael asked calmly.
"Six thousand pounds."
Michael didn't react. He only looked down at the bag, then back at Nate. "And how much is this?"
"Five hundred."
Michael's lips curved into something slow and unsettling. "Five hundred," he repeated. "For a spoon of nicotine, heroin, cocaine, and tar?"
He stepped closer, close enough that Nate could smell smoke and expensive cologne. "You've got a lot of nerve," Michael murmured.
Nate's heartbeat thundered in his ears. Old friend or not, he knew better than to mistake familiarity for safety.
Michael straightened, tapping the bag once with his finger.
"But you're right," he said quietly. " I do need to pay my debts."
Just not when people expect him to. Nate barely had time to answer before Michael ran a hand through his hair, irritation flashing across his face. The calm was gone now-replaced by something sharper, more volatile.
Then everything happened at once.
Michael's gun was in his hand before Nate could blink. The punch came next-hard, fast-connecting with Nate's face and sending him stumbling backward. Michael followed immediately, closing the distance, pressing the cold metal of the gun beneath Nate's chin.
"You know what your problem is?" Michael said quietly. Too quietly. "You're very disrespectful toward me."
Nate's breath shook. "Michael, please-"
"Toward your own boss," Michael finished, his voice edged with steel.
Nate swallowed hard, his bravado gone. "Michael, please. I'm sorry. Don't kill me."
Michael exhaled slowly, almost bored. "You see? You've just proved my point."
Nate's hands trembled. "Please. I'm sorry, boss Rick."
Michael lowered the gun just enough to speak clearly. "It's quite easy, if you ask me. Fill the bags. And scram."
Relief flickered across Nate's face-but it didn't last.
"I can't," Nate whispered. "You know Diego's gonna kill me if he finds out I sent this to you."
Michael sighed, rubbing his jaw. "I didn't want to do this. You know that."
Before Nate could respond, a distant sound sliced through the air.
Sirens.
Faint, but growing louder.
Michael's head snapped toward the door. He grabbed the duffel bag in one swift motion and bolted.
The night swallowed him as he burst into the street, feet pounding against the pavement. Shouts erupted behind him-boots, radios, commands he didn't stop to listen to.
"Stop!"
Michael ran.
He weaved through alleyways and crowds, shoving past strangers, knocking over bins, vaulting low barriers. His lungs burned, adrenaline roaring in his ears as flashing lights spilled across brick walls.
Then-impact.
He collided with me hard enough to knock the breath from both of them.
"Sorry," he muttered automatically, already moving again.
He didn't stop running. Didn't look back.
But for half a second-just long enough to register it-his eyes met mine.
Wide. Startled. Familiar.
Too familiar.
I stood frozen on the pavement, my heart racing as I watched him disappear into the chaos.
What the hell was that?
Before I could process it, a police officer rushed up to me, breathless.
"Hey, ma'am," he said quickly. "Have you seen a tall guy-about six-two, early twenties-wearing a black coat and carrying a transparent yet black bag?"
I hesitated, my pulse still pounding.
"Oh," he added, glancing past me. "It's Ria. Claire's sister, right?"
I nodded slowly, my mind replaying the moment over and over again.
The collision.
The apology.
The way he looked at me like he already knew me.
And for reasons I couldn't explain-
I knew this wasn't the last time I'd see him.
Chapter Two - Anything familiar?
"Uh-yeah," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. "He went that way. Follow me. I'll lead you there."
The words came out easily. Too easily.
I turned and started walking, the police officers falling into step behind me. My heart hammered as I guided them down the street-the way he had actually gone. Serves him right for being rude.
Just minutes earlier, I'd seen him duck into a narrow, shadowed hallway between two buildings. I'd almost called out to the police then, almost pointed him out without hesitation.
But when he'd looked at me-
Terrified. Desperate. Begging without saying a word-
Something inside me had cracked.
So I lied.
"Nope," I said after a moment, slowing to a stop. "I think I got the wrong guy. He's not here. You should probably go back or look somewhere else. He was very smart-and fast."
The officers exchanged a glance.
"You're right," one of them said finally. "He's gone. We'll look for him later tonight. Thanks, Ria."
"Yeah," the other added. "Thanks for your help. Let's go."
They turned and walked away.
When I looked back toward the hallway, he was gone.
I let out a shaky breath, shrugged it off like it meant nothing, and started the walk home.
That was when the road began to feel... different.
Longer. Quieter. Hollow.
Every sound echoed too loudly. My footsteps. My breathing. The distant hum of traffic felt miles away as the street seemed to close in around me.
I had the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
I sped up.
So did the feeling.
I stopped abruptly and turned around.
Nothing.
No one.
My pulse raced faster.
I started walking again-then faster-then almost jogging. The sensation followed me, relentless, pressing against my spine like a presence just out of reach.
I spun around again.
Still nothing.
That somehow made it worse.
"Listen," I said aloud, my voice cutting through the silence. "I know you're out there. Quit following me. It's not cool."
My hand slipped into my bag, fingers brushing on my pepper spray.
"I'm armed," I added sharply. "So don't test me."
The street stayed silent.
But I knew-deep down-
I wasn't alone. Still nothing.
Then suddenly-someone was there.
I turned around and nearly collided with a solid wall of a man towering over me. My breath caught.
It was him.
The same rude boy I'd saved from the police earlier.
"Looking for me, snowflake?" he asked casually, like he hadn't just appeared out of thin air.
"Christ-what?" I blurted.
"I saw you looking around," he said, eyes dark with amusement. "I was just wondering if it was me you were searching for."
"What? No," I snapped. "Why would I be looking for you? I don't even know you."
He smiled slightly. "Fair enough. Still-thanks for covering for me with the cops. Even though you led them straight to me anyway."
I scoffed. "Yeah, well, you're welcome. You deserved it. Why were they after you?"
He leaned closer. "Let me say this very clearly-none of your business."
"Right," I muttered. "Bad-boy stuff. So... what's in the bag?"
"You really ask a lot of questions," he said flatly. "And again-none of your business."
I crossed my arms. "Wait, stand still."
Before he could react, I stepped closer, rising onto my tiptoes, my face inches from his neck. I inhaled instinctively-
And froze.
Before I could pull back, his hand shot out. He grabbed my waist and pulled me sharply against him.
"Damn," he murmured. "You're short... Hot too.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Hm," I said, forcing steadiness. "You smell like nicotine... heroin... cocaine... and tar."
His jaw tightened.
"You've got a quiet nose, don't you, Ria?" he said softly. "But seriously-remember this. It's none of your business."
My stomach dropped. "How-how do you know my name?"
He tilted his head, feigning surprise. "You're Ria? Oh my God, I didn't just read half of your name on your badge or anything. Guess I'm either a prophet-or very intelligent."
I rolled my eyes. "Right. I've still got my shift on, genius."
He chuckled. "Can you not roll your eyes at me? So how is packing and giving meds to patients? Doesn't it get tiring? Boring?"
I stiffened. "How do you know I'm a pharmacist?"
He glanced down pointedly. "Your uniform gave you away."
I narrowed my eyes. "And you are what? A smuggler?"
"None of your business."
"Figures." I stepped back. "Hell no. I'm leaving. Why am I even talking to a six-two stranger who's on the run from the police? Aren't you scared I'll report you?"
For a split second, something dark flickered behind his eyes.
Then he smiled."No."
His answer was immediate.
"Why?" I demanded, my pulse quickening.
"Because I trust you," Michael said calmly. "And I know you can't do anything-because you know nothing about me. Your body language tells me everything."
I stiffened.
"Surprisingly," he added quietly, "you're still in my arms."
That was when reality snapped back into place.
I shoved him away hard, breaking free. "Freak!" I snapped. "I'm out of here-and don't you dare follow me, psycho."
I spun on my heel, ready to leave.
Before I could take more than a step, his hand closed around my arm. He yanked me back, pulling me closer to him again, his grip firm but controlled.
"Anything about this feel familiar?" he murmured near my ear. "Don't you miss being around me?"
"Let me go," I said sharply, my heart racing. "What are you even talking about?"
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then his fingers loosened. He let go of my arm, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped back.
"Whatever," he muttered.
He turned and walked away.
I blinked.
When I turned around again, he was gone.
Just like that.
"How did he even do that?" I whispered to myself.
Shaken, I hurried home, the walk feeling longer than usual. By the time I reached the apartment, I was exhausted-mentally and physically.
Inside, I found Claire stretched out in the living room, completely absorbed in her favorite series.
"Hey, sis," she said without looking away from the screen. "How was work?"
I dropped my bag and exhaled. "Hey, big sis. Work was fine... until I literally ran into this random hot guy who was on the run."
She finally turned to look at me. "What?"
Chapter Three - Cravings
"Yeah," I said, sinking onto the couch beside her. "And he had cops chasing him. You must know a little something about it-Paul and Sean were there."
Claire's expression shifted. Subtle. Controlled. Professional.
"Oh, right," she said carefully. "I sent them to look for a dangerous criminal. Guess they lost him. He's smarter and faster than I thought."
My stomach tightened. "If he's that dangerous, why wasn't Chief Commander Claire Contour on the scene?"
She shot me a look. "I had bigger things on my plate. And I'm leaving town tomorrow morning."
I froze. "Wait-what? So I'm going to be home alone for how many days?"
"At least a week."
I groaned dramatically. "No. Absolutely not. Okay-fine. Then tell me more about the mysterious guy."
Claire smirked. "Exactly. He's mysterious."
"So mysterious that you don't even know his name?"
"I do," she said, her tone sharpening instantly. "But it's better if you don't. He's extremely dangerous, Ria. Knowing anything about him is a huge risk. He's not someone you make contact with, especially eye contact."
My chest tightened. "Why?"
"He's a drug mafia boss," Claire said quietly. "And he's the last one standing."
Silence fell between us.
"Damn," I muttered. "No wonder he smelled like nicotine, heroin, cocaine, and tar. Mostly coke."
Claire's eyes snapped to mine.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "Those are his favorites in the entire universe."
She paused.
"...Wait."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Claire's eyes narrowed slowly.
"Do you know it takes almost five minutes of continuous exposure to recognize that kind of smell?" she asked. "And you'd have to be standing inches away to pick it up. Were you near him for a long time?"
I hesitated. "Uh... yeah. Maybe ten. Fifteen minutes."
Her face drained of color. "Why? Ria-did he hurt you?"
"No," I said quickly. "No, he didn't. He was actually... sweet. Funny. Nonchalant. Hot. Totally freaky, but not in a bad way."
Claire's jaw tightened. "He's a creep. Stay away from him. And if you ever see him again, you call me immediately so I can have him arrested."
We talked for hours after that. The conversation drifted, looping back on itself, until exhaustion settled in my bones and the room started to feel hazy.
I yawned. "Yeah, okay. I heard you, sis. I'm going to bed now."
"Same," Claire said, stifling a yawn of her own.
"Goodnight, biggie. I love you."
"Goodnight, snowlie. I love you too."
I kissed her forehead and headed down the hall. The apartment was quiet, peaceful. Normal.
Until I opened my bedroom door.
Michael was sitting on my bed.
I froze, my heart slamming violently against my ribs.
"Oh my Jesus Christ!"
"Hey, snowflake," he said casually, like he hadn't just materialized out of my nightmares. " your bed is surprisingly comfy. What took you so long? How long does it take to describe a random hot dude you saw?"
"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "How did you even get in?"
He stood slowly and walked toward me, each step unhurried, deliberate.
"None of your business."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped. "It is my business. You're the one in my house. In my room. How do you know where I live-and why did you follow me?"
"I know a lot about you, Ria Contour," he said softly. "How's Claire? Aren't you supposed to tell her that the hot, dangerous guy she's hunting is sitting on your bed right now?"
My stomach twisted. "Are you-have you been spying on me? You freak. Do you have cameras in my house? How do you even know my sister?"
"Who, Claire?" He tilted his head. "I'd say that's none of your business."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course."
"Don't roll your eyes at me," he continued. "Claire's famous, snowflake. Everyone knows the Chief Commander of the Defense Force. And I know a lot about you too."
He stepped closer.
"Your address. Where you work. Your full name. Date of birth. Parents. Siblings." His voice stayed calm, almost gentle. "Ria Contour. Twenty-two. Pharmacist. Born on the day of love-February fourteenth. Parents died in a plane crash when you were 11. Raised by your sister and aunt."
My breath caught.
"And Claire Contour," he went on, eyes never leaving mine. "Twenty-six. Chief Commander. Dating the mayor's son, Orlando Francisco."
Silence swallowed the room.
He smiled slightly. "See? I don't need cameras to know you."
And that was when I realized something terrifying.
Michael hadn't followed me home.
He had already been waiting."How does it feel," I snapped, trying to steady myself, "being a complete creep? Reading me like a book?"
He tilted his head. "No. Just observant."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"I know you only had one boyfriend," he said quietly. "I know you look hotter without your uniform. Wanna bet?"
My breath caught despite myself.
"Enough," I said. "One question. And don't say 'none of your business.' How do you know all this?"
He smiled slowly. "I have one question too. Let me guess-you want to know if I know what turns you on."
I swallowed. "No. Just-how do you know all this?"
He leaned in, voice dropping. "Because I know everything about you... except that."
The air between us shifted.
He moved closer, crowding me against the door, his presence overwhelming without ever fully touching. His voice brushed my ear, low and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Is it words," he murmured, "or closeness?" he continued, shh... Let me just confirm a little. Suddenly Michael moves closer to me and I had no escape because of the wall behind me.
My heart pounded. I should have pushed him away. I should have told him to leave.
Instead, I froze.
For a moment, everything blurred-the danger, the thrill, the heat of him standing there. My thoughts tangled, desire fighting fear. Michael put both my arms above my head and held onto them. He used one hand to circle the outline of my uniform pants. I was gasping and groaning loud. He moved closer to my neck and I closed my eyes, waiting for he's next move,
And then-
Nothing.
The space beside me was suddenly empty.
I blinked, breath ragged, hands trembling. The door was still closed. My room was silent.
He was gone.
I stood there for a long moment, stunned, pulse racing, trying to understand how I hadn't even heard him leave.
"Stupid asshole" I muttered under my breath.collapsed onto my bed and hugged my pillow, my thoughts spiraling-his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me like he already owned pieces of me.
I hated that it felt wrong.
I hated even more that I wanted him back.
The next morning, I woke up craving him.
Days passed. Three of them. No sign of Michael.
I went to work, came home, kissed Claire goodbye when she left town-but he never appeared.
And then one night, exhausted, I unlocked my door-
Chapter four - Bad idea
I found him standing at my desk.
My heart slammed into my ribs as I froze in the doorway, my eyes tracking his hands as they moved through my personal drawers, flipping through documents like they belonged to him.
"What the hell are you doing?" I snapped. "And where have you been?"
He didn't look up. "Missed me, Snowflake?"
"What-no. Absolutely not. Get out."
He chuckled softly, finally turning toward me. "Better tone."
"Huh?"
"I thought I'd pay you a visit," he said easily, as if breaking into my room was the most natural thing in the world.
My pulse raced. "Since you know everything about me... at least tell me your name. Just your name."
His gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.
"I didn't know what turned you on before," he said quietly. "But now I do."
Heat rushed to my face. "Did you even hear what I asked?"
"My life is none of your business snowflake," he continued, stepping closer. "All you need to know is that I'm dangerous-and that standing this close to you makes it hard not to want things I shouldn't." My heart skipped a beat. "You must have something, a name, anything or anyone you love."
The air between us thickened.
"Love?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm not capable of that."
"You must be kidding," I said. "Everyone's capable of loving."
"Everyone but me. I only love substances that don't betray me."
I stared at him. "So you have no one? No family? Friends? Not even a girl in your life?"
"Just a little brother."
"And you don't love him?"
His jaw tightened. "It's not the same. I wouldn't kill or die for him the way I would for my vices."
"That's brutal," I whispered. "Maybe you've just been hurt. Maybe you loved the wrong people."
He laughed darkly. "Love is just a word people throw around. It means nothing."
"No," I said softly. "Love is joy and pain. It's sacrifice. It's addiction and healing all at once. Strong enough to make you forget everything else."
He studied me like I was a puzzle he didn't care to solve.
"Sounds boring," he muttered.
"You just need to loosen up," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "Let go of the hard edges. I could teach you how to love-well, not me. Other people."
"Love lessons?" He smirked. "No thanks."
"You need therapy."
"Unless you're offering to help me."
I swallowed. "Maybe. But first-your name."
He laughed quietly. "Rick. Now I need your help."
"With what?"
"Supplying drugs from your workplace."
My stomach dropped. "What? No. I can't."
"Please," he said, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. "I need help creating something for my little brother."
"Why?"
"He's dying," Michael said flatly. "Cancer. Surgery isn't cheap."
I crossed my arms. "I don't buy it."
"I'm serious, Ria," he said, eyes sharp. "Why would I lie?"
Silence stretched between us, heavy and dangerous.
And somehow, despite everything-
I didn't tell him to leave. I shook my head, pressing my lips together as panic crawled up my spine.
"I can't, Rick," I said quietly. "I could lose my job. I could go to jail."
He didn't hesitate.
"Please, Ria," he said, his voice dropping, losing its edge for the first time. "I'll do anything you want me to."
That should have scared me more than it did.
I exhaled slowly. "Fine. I'll teach you how to love."
For a moment, he just stared at me-then his mouth curved into something almost like a smirk.
"What?" he scoffed. "No. Anything but that."
"Nope." I lifted my chin. "It's a deal. You want my help? Then you learn how to care about someone other than yourself. You should say you love your brother-start there. Tell me why you care."
His expression darkened instantly.
"Don't use that word," he said sharply.
"What word?" I asked. "Love?"
He looked away, jaw tight. "Since you know so much," he muttered, "tell me about your love experience."
I hesitated, then spoke anyway.
"His name was Marco. We were kids when we met. We grew up together, fell in love too young, stayed together too long. Six years." My throat tightened. "Then he moved away. I never saw him again."
Rick's eyes flicked to my wrist. "And the tattoo?"
"I don't know why I got it," I admitted. "I just know he paid for it. For me."
"Funny," Rick said quietly. "You remember Marco, but not your best friend."
"What?" I frowned.
"Nothing." He stepped back. "So-are you helping me or not?"
"Yes," I said. "For your little brother."
"Good." His mouth curved again. "So when do the stupid love lessons start?"
"Tomorrow," I replied. "At my workplace."
He gave a short laugh. "Sure. See you then."
I stopped him before he could leave. "Rick-how do you know so much about me? Things even my sister doesn't know?"
He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.
"That's what best friends are for, right?"
And then he was gone.
The silence that followed felt wrong.
I went straight to my drawers, pulling them open one by one. My stomach dropped.
My access card.
Missing.
"Rick-wait!" I ran down the stairs, heart racing, but he had vanished like smoke.
How does someone just disappear like that?
The next morning, I slipped into my gown and brushed my teeth, exhaustion clinging to my bones. I stepped into the living room-
-and froze.
Rick was stretched out on my couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, fast asleep.
"What the hell?" I snapped. "Rick! Why are you here? And how did you even get in? And have you been smoking? "
He yawned slowly, sitting up like he owned the place. "Maybe," he said lazily. "And good morning to you too, Ria."
"Oh my God," I muttered sarcastically. "Did I ruin your sleep? -I didn't mean to wake you."
He smiled at that. Not soft. Not kind. But satisfied.
"I'm glad you realised your mistake," he said. "I slept just fine."
Something told me that whatever I'd agreed to-
It had already started. I crossed my arms, staring him down.
"The audacity," I muttered. "Bring my pass back. Mr its none of my business."
Rick leaned against the counter, completely unbothered. His gaze slid over me slowly, deliberately.
"What pass?" he said lazily. "You look good without your uniform, though. I could stare at you all day."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, but that's not the point. Where's my pass?"
He tilted his head. " There you go again rolling your eyes do it again and I swear-"
"I won't," I said sharply. I'm just-"
"In the mood to ruin my sleep," he interrupted, "or accuse me of something?"
I stiffened. " Right my gate pass. For work. You stole it, Rick. I know you did."
He straightened, expression darkening. "I don't know what you're talking about, Snowflake."
I clenched my fists. "It was in my drawer. Now it's gone. And yesterday, I saw you going through my things."
"Listen," he snapped, stepping closer. "I don't have your damn pass."
I scoffed. "Then who does? Let me see your pockets."
His brow arched. "You did not just accuse me of stealing. And even if I did-what would I want with a gate pass?"
"It opens every door in the pharmacy," I shot back. "Every single one."
The air between us shifted.
Slowly, deliberately, Rick smiled.
"Well," he said quietly, "now that's interesting."
My stomach dropped.
That smile wasn't playful.
It was calculated.
And for the first time since meeting him, I realized something far worse than losing my job-
I had just told the wrong man exactly where what he wants is.
Chapter five - Love lessons
"And the hospital doors," I added sharply. "You know you took it."
Rick raised both hands slowly. "No, I didn't," he said. "Search me, then."
Before I could respond, he reached into his jacket and emptied the contents onto the coffee table with deliberate slowness.
A small pack of drugs landed first.
Then his motorcycle keys.
A blade.
Dark glasses. Contraceptives. And last but not list a gun. Not just any gun a compact pistol.
Things I definitely did not need in my living room.
I stared at the pile. "Wow," I muttered. "All that for one guy. Impressive."
"There," he said flatly. "See? No pass. Now leave me alone."
"I have to get to work," I snapped. "And without it, I can't."
He crossed his arms. "Did you even look for it? Or are you just blaming me because it's convenient?"
I hesitated.
"...Fine," I said. "Let me check."
I searched everywhere-drawers, shelves, bags-until finally I found it.
In Claire's room.
On her nightstand.
Weird. Very weird.
When I returned, he looked up instantly. "So?"
"I found it," I admitted. "It was in my sister's room."
He raised a brow. "Do I look like I had it?"
"No," I sighed. "I'm sorry, Rick."
He waved it off. "Whatever. Just don't put that ugly uniform back on yet."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because," he said casually, leaning back, "I don't usually get to see you like this. Give me five minutes."
I rolled my eyes. "Five. I don't want to be late."
He's jaw clenched. He runs a hand through he's hair. "You really have the habit of turning me on with those eyes."
" Really? " I said, grabbing my bag. "I seriously have to go."
"Alright," he said smoothly. "Off you go."
I paused at the door. "You're definitely not staying here."
He laughed. "For what? Your nonsense love therapy?"
"And your drugs," I shot back.
"Fine," he said, standing. "Go get dressed."
I did-and ten minutes later, I was dragging him to my car.
The moment we entered my workplace, everything shifted.
I was busy immediately, pulled into tasks, voices, movement.
Rick stayed behind me.
Watching.
I felt his gaze even when I didn't look.
"What?" I asked finally.
"Nothing," he replied. "You look... different when you're focused."
I frowned. "That's creepy."
He smiled.
"I meant it as a compliment."
And somehow, that made it worse.
I wouldn't say the same for you.
Rick laughed under his breath, low and careless, like nothing ever touched him deeply enough to matter.
"Can you wait for me some place else,?" I asked, forcing my voice steady. "You're distracting me, and I've got thirty minutes before break."
"Me? A distraction?" he said, clearly amused.
"Yes," I replied flatly. "Here-take this and leave."
He grinned. "I think I'm already in love with you."
"Cute," I said, waving him off. "Now go."
He did-eventually.
But when my break finally came and I went looking for him, he was nowhere near the front of the store.
I found him in the back.
In the storeroom.
Where all the medication was kept.
My stomach tightened instantly.
"What the hell are you doing back here?" I hissed.
He leaned against the shelving like he belonged there. "Waiting for you."
"You weren't planning on taking anything, were you?"
"What? No," he said quickly.
"You're acting suspicious."
He straightened, irritation flashing across his face. "You seriously have trust issues. And this-this is exactly why I don't do love."
I crossed my arms. "Take whatever you want and leave."
He looked genuinely offended. "I don't want anything. I just came in here because it was quiet. Peaceful. Figured I'd wait for you here."
Guilt hit me immediately. "Right... I'm sorry."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I'm trying here, Ria. I don't want this to turn into something ugly. Let's just get these stupid lessons started."
I checked the time. "I've got an hour before I have to get back. Let's start with the basics."
He smirked. "Basics?"
"Yes. How to approach a girl. How to ask her out. First-date ideas."
He laughed like I'd told the best joke of the year. "Easy. You pull her close, kiss her, and the rest figures itself out."
"That's not how it works," I snapped. "Not all girls are the same."
"Maybe," he said softly, stepping closer. "But I can make one fall with a look alone."
I held his gaze. "No. Because I haven't fallen for you."
For a split second, something dark flickered behind his eyes.
"Ouch," he said lightly. "That almost hurt. So... shall we begin?"
"Yes," I replied. "Quick rule. What works for you won't work for everyone else."
We talked for a long time after that.
Too long.
About attraction. Control. Curiosity. What people want versus what they think they deserve.
And somewhere between his careless confidence and my quiet resistance, I realized something unsettling-
Rick wasn't learning how to love.
He was studying how people break.
And I wasn't sure whether I was teaching him...
Or becoming his next lesson.My co-boss called me just as I was finishing up my notes.
I sighed, rubbing my temple. "I gotta go. We're making drugs now."
Michael blinked. "That's your co-boss?"
"Yes."
He frowned immediately. "Are you sure? He's a bit... I don't know. He looks shady."
"Rick," I hissed, lowering my voice, "he can hear you. He's cute."
Michael scoffed. "Why are you screaming? And no, he's not cute."
"I don't know," I muttered, already backing away. "I'll be back, okay? And I think you're just jealous."
"I swear this is painful," Michael called after me. "And I am not jealous."
"Just a few more hours," I said over my shoulder. "At least three."
"Just go already."
Before I left, I tossed him a quick glance. "Quick riddle! It's a feeling. What's yours but you would hate to see it with someone else?"
I didn't wait for his response.
The lab smelled like chemicals and antiseptic when I walked in. Charlie-my young, ridiculously handsome co-boss-was already there, pulling on gloves.
I slipped on my safety gear and took my place beside him as we began working on a new compound meant to replace paracetamol.
Charlie was... effortlessly funny. Everything he said landed. I laughed harder than I meant to, my guard lowering as he cracked joke after joke.
At some point, our eyes met.
The moment lingered.
Too long.
I was about to look away when-
The glass beaker fell from my hands.
Before I could even process the sting, the lab door slammed open.
Michael.
He rushed in and shoved Charlie hard enough that he stumbled back.
"Back off, dude!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shouted. "That's my boss!"
Michael's eyes were wild. "He was looking at you. Like that. Only I'm allowed to look at you like that, Ria."
Charlie raised his hands calmly. "It's cool. I wouldn't do the same thing for a random dude hitting on my girl. You can take the rest of the day off."
"Thanks, Charlie," I said quickly, grabbing Michael's arm. "Rick, let's go."
I dragged him out of the lab and stopped at the exit of the pharmacy, fury boiling over.
"What the hell was that for?"
"I don't know," he muttered.
"Oh, I see you're sober now," I snapped. "Whatever you've got planned, erase getting Ria fired. I love my job."
"Do you?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. What do you mean? And listen-did you solve the riddle?"
"No," he said. "It makes no sense."
"Dumbass. I gave you a clue."
"It can't be love, can it?"
"No. What did you just do in there?"
He shrugged. "Push your pervert boss?"
"Jealousy," I shot back. "You were jealous. Which means you're close to love."
He chuckled. "I could never be jealous of anyone. Or anything."
"You sure?"
He sighed. "Fine. I got a little jealous. But I had a reason."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You were so close to him," he admitted. "For a moment, I thought you were going to kiss."
"And apparently I have trust issues."
"You do," he said softly. "I don't, I trust-"
"Absolutely no one," I replied. "That's why no one knows anything about you."
"That's not true," he said. "You're the only one, Ria. Even Claire knows a lot about me."
"Sure," I said dryly. "Mr. None-of-my-business. Let's go."
"Where to?"
"Let's dive into today's lesson," I said. "But physically this time."
"You mean dates and stuff?"
"Yes. And a whole lot more."
We drove to the amusement park, ate ice cream while talking, laughing like normal people for once.
I didn't notice at first, but Michael kept staring at my lips.
So I took my ice cream and smeared it across his nose.
He froze-then did the same to me.
We burst out laughing, chasing each other until we collapsed in the grass, breathless.
"This is fun," he said. "I'm loving it."
"Did you just say love?" I teased.
"Loving. Actually. Is fun love?"
I snorted. "This is like teaching a two-year-old how to use the potty."
He laughed. "My bad."
"No, Rick," I said gently. "This isn't love. It's just an example of dates. Things you do with the person you love."
But even as I said it-
Something twisted in my chest.
Because whatever this was...
It was already becoming dangerous.
Chapter six - The disgusting truth
The city slowly faded behind us as the night grew quieter.
Michael glanced around, his hands in his pockets. "This is your part of the world?"
"No," I said softly. "Not all of it. Come with me. We have more to do."
"What more?"
I took him everywhere.
The fair. The carnival. The circus lights spinning against the dark sky. We rode Ferris wheels, ate greasy food, laughed too loud. By the time night fully settled, we were stretched out on the rooftop of my house, staring up at the stars like the world hadn't already ruined us.
"This is so peaceful," I whispered. "My favorite part of the day."
"Me too," he said. Then, quieter, "Ria... can I tell you a secret?"
I turned my head toward him. "You sure you trust me? And are you sure it's my business?"
"Yeah," he said after a pause. "I trust you now. Your world is... comfortable. Mine's rough."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out rolling paper and a small bag. I watched as he worked on muscle memory alone, lighting up and exhaling slowly.
"When I was young," he began, staring at the sky, "I had a best friend. We were born on the same day-different years. I was a year older. From the moment I saw her, I knew we were inseparable."
His voice softened.
"I was there for her first steps. I took care of her when she needed it. Somewhere along the way, I fell for her. But I never said anything. I thought it would ruin everything. And... she had a crush on my older brother."
I swallowed. "You have an older brother?"
"I don't like talking about him," he said flatly. "We don't get along. He wanted me to stop smoking."
"When did you start?"
His jaw tightened.
"Things got bad when my best friend was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It messed with her head. One day I was hugging her-just comforting her-and suddenly I was accused of trying to rape her."
My breath caught.
"I was around sixteen. She was fifteen. By then she'd been dating my brother for years. I was sent to juvenile."
I sat up slowly. "Why didn't she justify your actions?"
"She couldn't," he said. "She was losing parts of her brain. The part that held memories-me included. She could remember names, important things... but not me. Before juvie, I was already smoking. My brother-Marco-taught me a lot of bad shit. I got influenced young."
He took another drag.
"I served three years. When I got out at eighteen, the smoking didn't stop. It got worse. Drugs were easy. I had access. Eventually, I became a boss myself. A real smuggler."
My chest felt tight. "Your big brother's name is Marco?"
"Yeah. And my little brother's Miguel."
"Those are Spanish names," I said quietly. "Does that mean you're Italian?"
"Yep."
"So... that means your real name isn't Rick."
"You're asking a lot," he said. "No. Rick isn't my first name. It's my middle name."
"Can you at least tell me your real name?" I asked. "Or the girl's name?"
"Rick's fine for now," he said coldly. "I don't want you returning to my life again."
"Huh?"
He turned toward me fully then. "Let me explain how Marco got you that snowflake tattoo."
My heart stopped.
"Wait," I whispered. "Am I... no way. I'm the girl who betrayed you?"
"It took you long enough," he said. "That's how I knew so much about you."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"What difference would it have made?"
Tears burned my eyes. "I betrayed you. Hurt you. I still can't even rememberk you. I'm the one who got you sent to jail. Smoking. Drugs. Unable to love. I'm a horrible person. And Marco-he must've been so hurt that I didn't even recognize him."
His voice dropped, sharp and final.
"He stopped talking to us because of you."
Silence swallowed the rooftop.
And for the first time, I understood-
This wasn't just a romance.
It was revenge wrapped in love.I told myself I was happy.
Alive.
Healthy.
Yet somehow, I still felt unfinished-like something essential had been cut out of me and never returned.
"It wasn't your fault, Ria," Michael said quietly. "It was the illness."
I shook my head. "Then why can't I remember? Why does everything feel like it's right there, just out of reach?"
The room tilted.
And suddenly, I wasn't there anymore.
I was younger-running through a vast garden behind a grand house, laughter spilling from my chest. I was calling him Michael, not Rick. The memory came too fast, too bright, and then everything went black.
When I woke, my head throbbed. I was in my bed. Michael sat beside me on a chair, elbows on his knees, watching me like he hadn't moved in hours.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"No," I whispered. "My head feels like it's breaking in a thousand ways."
"Don't strain yourself."
I hesitated. "Michael... why did you leave eight years ago? Why didn't you stay-with your best friend? With me?"
His eyes sharpened. "You remember my name."
"And the garden," I said softly. "That's all I have."
He leaned back slowly. "After I was released, my family moved to Rome. It was safer that way. Less attention."
"What happened in the garden?" I asked.
He smiled faintly. "We were kids. Twelve and thirteen. A snowflake landed on your shoulder and you begged for a tattoo. Marco gave you one. I said everyone had to call you Snowflake after that."
I swallowed. "
His gaze darkened. "You always noticed."
"I remember you being jealous of Marco," I said. "You said he had everything. The looks. The attention. The freedom."
"You're putting the pieces together," he murmured.
Then it all hit me at once-the fear, the accusation, the moment that destroyed everything.
"I was scared," I said, my voice breaking. "I didn't understand what was happening. I'm so sorry, Michael."
"Do you know what that did to him?" he asked quietly.
"Where is Marco now?"
"He owns a tattoo studio. He's clean. Because of you."
I laughed weakly through tears. "I really ruin lives, don't I?"
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe you change them."
I looked at him. "Why are you here then?"
He stood. "Because you matter more than you remember."
That night, he left me with those words echoing in my chest.
The next morning, I woke to find him sitting beside my bed again, watching me sleep.
"You don't ever sleep, do you?" I asked.
"Not much," he said. "I came early."
"How early?"
"Around five."
I studied his face. "You told me you had feelings for me."
He smirked slightly. "Did I use that word?"
"I swear you did."
"And what else did I say?"
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Things you probably shouldn't have."
He chuckled. "Then it's a good thing I was sober this time."
Something about that should have scared me.
Instead, it pulled me closer.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.don't usually say that word," Michael said quietly, eyes fixed somewhere past me. "But last night... maybe I would have."
I scoffed. "A drunk man never lies. You said plenty. Now you're pretending you don't remember a thing."
His jaw tightened. "Don't use my real name," he said. "Rick is better."
"But last night you-"
"Forget what I said," he cut in sharply. "Forget last night. Pretend it was all in your head."
I stepped closer. "It wasn't imagination. You didn't joke. You didn't hide behind sarcasm. You spoke like every word came straight from your chest."
Silence.
"It doesn't matter," he said at last. "The sober version of me doesn't get to want things."
He stood, already reaching for his jacket. "Get dressed. I'm showing you my world. And don't try to look like me-I'm still recovering from the time you forced me into a tux."
The door closed behind him.
I showered quickly, heart racing, then slipped into a short black dress and boots that made me feel braver than I was. When I came down the stairs, he froze.
His eyes dragged over me-slow, unapologetic.
"No," he said. "Go change."
I smiled. "It's not every day I get invited into chaos. Let me dress for the occasion."
He exhaled like he was already regretting everything.
Outside, his motorcycle waited at the curb-dark, loud, intimidating.
"Oh no," I muttered.
"My ride," he said simply.
I forced a smile. "Very fancy."
"Quit stalling, Snowflake."
"I'm not getting on that thing."
"You're unique," he said, amused. "Most girls beg for a ride."
"Sorry," I said lightly. "Not dying today."
His expression shifted. "Then you ride in front."
"That's worse."
He swore under his breath, started the engine, and handed me a helmet.
"Wait-Michael," I said, already moving toward him.
I climbed on, gripping him tighter than I meant to.
He laughed. "We haven't even moved."
"I'm cautious."
"And I'm reckless," he replied. "Balance."
He pulled away without warning.
The city blurred around us. Fear melted into exhilaration. I screamed-not from terror, but from the rush of it. Wind tore through my hair, laughter ripped from my chest.
This was his world.
Fast. Loud. Lawless.
By the time we stopped, my legs were shaking-not from the ride, but from the realization that I didn't want to let go.
Later, in a forgotten corner of the city, surrounded by people who looked like trouble wrapped in leather and smoke, Michael leaned close.
"You still think I'm dangerous?" he asked.
I met his eyes. "I think you always were."
He smiled.
And somehow, that felt like a warning.
Chapter seven- The chase
The warehouse loomed ahead of us, abandoned and half-forgotten, its walls scarred with graffiti and time. Smoke curled through the air. Men leaned against broken crates and rusted doors, laughing, drinking, watching.
Michael's people.
One of them-older, sharp-eyed-nodded toward me.
"Boss, who's the girl? Is she one of the others?"
Michael's jaw tightened.
"No," he said flatly. "She's off-limits."
I frowned. "Off-limits from what?"
The man chuckled. "Careful. Don't let Diego see her. He'll chase anything pretty."
Michael's gaze darkened.
"Nadie la toca," he said calmly.
No one touches her.
That shut everyone up.
Another guy-Samuel-exhaled smoke slowly. "You're all acting like this is casual. Diego said he's coming for you, Rick."
Michael scoffed.
"Diego es puro ruido," he said.
Diego is just noise.
I caught enough of it to smirk.
One of them nudged another and glanced at me. "She doesn't smoke?"
Michael answered without looking at me.
"No."
Someone laughed. "Weird. Where'd you find her?"
Before Michael could speak, I did.
"The name's Ria," I said coolly. "And no, thank you. I'm good. Micheal i don't like this place."
The man froze, then laughed. "Damn. She rejected Alfred. That never happens." Another added, "Alfred, cálmate, ella es la novia de Michael. Alfred calm down she's Michael's girlfriend.
I felt Michael's attention shift fully to me now. Michael smirked. No, no lo es. Es como una hermana para mí," he said. No she's not she's just like a sister to me. Micheal did you hear me I wanna leave," I said annoyed.
"Ria," Samuel repeated slowly. "Rick did she just call you by your name?¿No se supone que ya deberías matarla? Aren't You supposed to kill her by now?"
I turned to Michael with a sweet smile.
" Yeah Michael, aren't you supposed to kill me by now?" I asked lightly. "Weren't you supposed to have kill your sister?"
As I walked away the air went dead.
Someone muttered, "Mierda... ella entiende español."
Shit... she understands Spanish.
Michael swore under his breath and turned sharply away.
I stood outside next to Michael's bike, vibrating with adrenaline and irritation, watching his stupid bike like it had personally offended me. I was so angry I could've strangled him.
"Ria, listen," he said.
He turned just as I stepped forward and kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't hesitant. It was impulsive and sharp and full of heat.
I pulled back just enough to look at him.
"Can you at least kiss your sister properly next time?"
For a split second, he looked stunned.
Then he laughed. Low. Dangerous.
"You're messed up Ria ," he said. "How did you even understand that?"
I shrugged. "I didn't. I guessed."
His smile lingered as he shook his head.
"Smart," he said. "I've got somewhere to be. Let me take you home first"Take me with you," I said.
Michael didn't even hesitate. "I can't. It's dangerous."
"I'll be careful," I insisted. "Besides, it's about time you try those lessons on a girl. It's now or never."
He studied my face for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes dark.
"Fine," he said finally. "But the second I'm done, you go home. Deal?"
"Deal."
He turned and raised his voice. "¡Oigan, vamos a correr!"
Hey boys, let's race.
Engines roared to life.
Three bikes peeled out beside us, circling like predators before shooting ahead. We followed, tearing through the streets until neon lights bled into one another and we skidded to a stop outside a crowded pub-club.
One of the guys glanced at me. "You sure about this, Michael? La chica could get hurt."
"She won't," Michael said calmly. "Estoy aquí."
I'm here.
"Us too," Alfred added.
But I caught the tension anyway. Someone muttered, "Escuché que Marco está aquí." I heard Marco's here.
Michael's head snapped up. " No one's telling him anything. Where are my men?"
"In the booth," Samuel said. "Probably with Diego."
Another pause. Then, quieter: "Anna's here too."
Michael sighed. "What does she want now?"
"Ella te quiere de vuelta." She wants you back.
His hand tightened around mine. "Come with me. No one needs to know I'm here. Ria-don't let go."
Inside, the music slammed into my chest. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and danger. Michael scanned the room, lifting two fingers subtly. One of his men nodded, murmured something in Spanish, and disappeared.
"You should go now," Michael said close to my ear. "This place isn't safe. Don't take unnecessary risks like I do."
Before I could answer, a woman appeared beside him-beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. She kissed his cheek like it was muscle memory and murmured in Spanish.
"Hola, Rich. ¿Quién es la muñeca?"
Who's the doll?
"My replacement?" she added with a smirk.
"No, Anna," Michael said evenly. "Esta es Ria."
This is Ria.
She looked me up and down. "Una tentación... muy caliente."
A temptation. Very hot.
"What do you want, Anna?" Michael asked.
"You know what I want," she said softly. "Me debes."
You owe me.
"Can we make this quick?"
"Sí. En el cuarto trasero."
Yes. In the back room.
"I'm coming," he said. "I'll find you there."
She rolled her eyes. "Hurry up. You know I hate waiting."
When she left, Michael turned to me. "Ria, can you wait for me somewhere? Don't go far. And be careful."
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Somewhere ," he said, already backing away.
And just like that, he disappeared.
I was suddenly alone in a crowd that felt wrong.
I drifted toward the bar, desperate for space. A couple near me started making out aggressively. I grimaced and moved farther down, taking the empty stool beside a tall guy in an oversized hoodie. He was drinking whiskey, hood low, face mostly hidden.
"One shot, please," I told the bartender. "Hi."
The guy beside me scoffed but didn't look over.
"I said hi to you," I added.
The bartender leaned closer. "You should stop. Sonti doesn't like talking to people. Random people."
"Weird," I muttered.
The bartender set the glass in front of me. I lifted it-
-and the hoodie guy grabbed my wrist, knocking the drink from my hand. Whiskey spilled down my dress, cold and sharp.
"Hey!" I snapped. "What the hell was that for?"
He finally turned to face me.
"You don't drink, Ria."
My blood went cold.
"¿Entendido?" he added quietly.
Understood?
I stared at him, heart hammering.
This night wasn't over.
Not even close. "How-how do you know my name? " I said bluntly.
"Does it matter how I know your name?" Marco asked.
Before I could respond, the argument between us shattered under a sudden explosion of sound. Loud crashes echoed from the floor above us, followed by gunshots. My blood ran cold.
I barely had time to process what was happening when I saw Michael rushing downstairs, hurriedly buttoning his shirt. Before he could reach me, Marco grabbed my arm.
"Move," he said sharply.
I didn't even have time to recognize him properly before he was dragging me toward the back door. Two large men burst in behind us, shouting, guns raised.
We ran.
Shots rang out as we bolted outside, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might tear out of my chest. Marco shoved me into his car and jumped in after me, slamming the door shut. Tires screeched as he sped off.
I was still shaking when I noticed it.
Blood.
It soaked into his hoodie, running down his arm as he drove with one hand.
"You're hurt," I gasped. "They shot you-stop the car!"
He didn't slow down. If anything, he drove faster.
He turned into the gates of a massive mansion, parked, and got out without saying a word. A maid opened the door as he walked straight inside, one hand pressed against his wound. I followed him upstairs into a bedroom.
When I entered, he was sitting on the bed, shirtless, trying to bandage himself. The sight of blood against his skin made my stomach twist.
"You should get out," he said coldly.
"Let me help you."
"I don't need your help," he replied. "You need mine."
"Did Michael tell you to do this?" I asked softly. "Please... look at me. Don't hide your face."
He handed me the bandage without meeting my eyes. I helped clean the wound, my hands trembling as I worked.
"Who sent you?" I asked quietly.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes," I said. "You saved me from those men. It matters."
Slowly, Marco looked up.
And I recognized him.
"Marco?" I whispered.
"You remember me... after all this time?" he asked.
Tears filled my eyes as I hugged him tightly. "How could I not remember you?"
"For eight years, you didn't know who I was," he said bitterly. "And now you do."
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice breaking. "I hurt you so much."
"That's in the past now, Ria," he said firmly. "We've all moved on."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I guess we have, but-"
"I don't want to talk about the past," he cut in. "Let's keep this formal. Like there's nothing between us. Now go change. Your clothes smell like whiskey."
"I need a little privacy," I said.
He chuckled. "In my room, and you're asking for privacy? You can excuse yourself. I'm not leaving. Take this shirt and change. I'll have my maids deal with your clothes."
"Are you serious?" I asked. "You want me to change in front of you?"
"I'm not even paying attention," he replied.
I turned toward the mirror, my back to him. Slowly, I slipped off my heels, then my dress. I felt his presence disappear before I finished.
He left.
I pulled on his shirt quickly. Before I could button it, he walked back in.
Our eyes met.
He swallowed hard.
"What?" I asked.
He crossed the room in a few steps, pinning me gently but firmly against the wall. His eyes locked onto mine, then drifted down before he slowly buttoned the shirt himself.
"To be honest," he said quietly, "it looks better on you."
He turned to leave.
I stopped him.
I pulled him back and kissed him - hard, desperate - then broke it just as quickly.
His expression shattered. Anger and pain collided in his eyes.
He turned away again, stopping halfway.
The silence between us felt heavier than the gunshots ever had.
Chapter 8- choices
"Fuck it, Marco," I said, my voice breaking. "I get it. I messed up. I screwed up-big time-in the past. But I missed you. I swear I never forgot you. I never wanted to."
My chest ached as the words spilled out.
"This tattoo?" I continued, my hand shaking as I touched it. "It's a constant reminder that I belong to you. You got it for me so I could grow up and remember. I never forgot a single thing you said. I never stopped loving you. I never moved on."
Tears blurred my vision.
"I kept telling myself you were my one and only. That no one could ever replace you in my heart. So don't shut me out now. Not when I've finally found you again. Don't dump me and leave me stranded-again-without you."
Marco turned slowly.
His eyes were red, filled with tears he wasn't trying to hide anymore. He opened his arms, and I ran into them. He hugged me tightly, one hand cupping my face.
Before he kissed me, he whispered, "You are the strongest and bravest girl I have ever seen, Snowlie. No one could go through what you did and still stand here the way you are."
His forehead rested against mine.
"I missed you too," he said quietly. "And I never stopped loving you either."
He kissed me.
And then-
The door burst open.
A tall man walked in slowly, clapping, his smile sharp and unsettling. Two other men followed behind him, dragging Michael between them. Michael's shirt was soaked with blood, tears streaking his face, his eyes red with pain.
"Well, boys," the man said smoothly, "get this one too. The girl's mine."
He tilted his head, amused. "Nice speech, Ria. Or should I say Snowflake? Maybe even snowlie! You really made my night. I got to watch Michael cry while you poured your heart out to his brother."
My stomach dropped.
"Now," he continued, stepping closer, "which one is it, Snowflake?"
His eyes flicked between Marco and Michael.
"The one you love-and loves you back... or the one who's loved you for eternity but you only ever considered a best friend?"
He smiled coldly.
"Pick one. Now."