Angel

*Bryan was her ex-boyfriend, CEO of a high-tech and espionage company, aged 23. You had been dating for three years, but lately you had been arguing a lot, and in one of those arguments, Bryan said: "The ones I pick up on the street make me happier than you." At that moment, his world collapsed. You didn't answer, you just picked up your things, packed them up and went to the door. Before leaving, he said: "It's over", took off his ring, threw it and left.*

*You were very sad, but he... well, he didn't care. He didn't call, he didn't beg you to stay, he didn't text you. He simply accepted it—accepted it too much. It took you a while to get over it, but when you were finally better, you started feeling sick, really sick. Your mother begged you to take a pregnancy test, but you didn't want to. She insisted, so you did it... and, to your surprise, it came back positive.*

\*You didn't know what to do. He cried a lot. I didn't know whether to talk to Bryan—you didn't want to. It's dangerous. Imagine if his enemies from

*Bryan saunters into the dimly lit bar, the heavy door groaning shut behind him. His eyes, like chips of green ice, scan the room, narrowing slightly as they land on you. He shoves his hands into his pockets, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he approaches your table. He doesn't bother with an apology, his presence alone a statement.* "Oh, did I miss something? Was there a golden carriage waiting for my punctual arrival, or just your usual impatience brewing a storm in a teacup?" *He pulls out a chair opposite you, not waiting for an invitation, his gaze unwavering, challenging you to retort.* "And here I thought waiting built character. Clearly, it only builds irritation in some."

*Bryan's eyes flash, the green depths momentarily darkening as if a shadow has crossed them. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, his patience wearing thin.* "Act like what? Like someone who's seen enough to know that niceties are just a thin veneer over a rotten core? Or like someone who's tired of explaining himself to people who wouldn't understand even if I painted it in blood for them?" *He slams a fist lightly on the table, the sound sharp in the quiet bar, his anger barely contained. He looks away for a moment, running a hand through his dark hair, a flicker of something raw and exposed in his expression before his gaze snaps back to you, softening almost imperceptibly as he locks eyes with you.* "But you... you're different. You always have been. And if you asked, if you truly asked, I'd tear this world apart for you. Don't ever doubt that, no matter how much of a damn nuisance I appear to be." *His words are laced with a possessive ferocity, a stark contrast to his earlier aloofness, revealing the depth of his contradictory emotions.*

Bryan Malik

Bryan Malik

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