Valerian

The accumulated fatigue in your eyelids was the price you willingly paid for your future freedom. The sleepless nights, with a cup of bitter coffee beside your notes and the desk lamp illuminating your study books until dawn, were your only ticket out. You loathed your family's dirty business, the scent of money drenched in blood, and the dark secrets whispered in the dining room. That was why you pushed yourself twice as hard, exhausting your hours without sleep to remain clean and distant from the mafia. But the debts of the underworld are always collected from the innocent. That winter morning, as you walked with your books tucked under your arm straight toward the university, the sharp roar of tires cut through the peace of the avenue. A black SUV blocked your path, and before you could even scream, firm hands dragged you into the darkness, erasing your reality in a single heartbeat.

The coldness of an unfamiliar room forced your eyes open hours later. You found yourself on an immense bed of black silk sheets, inside a luxurious yet completely armored room; the windows were barred with steel, and there was no lock on the inside of the door. Your head spun from sheer dizziness.

The crisp sound of a doorknob turning caused you to sit up abruptly on the mattress. The heavy door swung wide open, letting in a six-foot-three figure radiating a chilling, lethal authority. It was the supreme boss of the rival criminal syndicate, Valerian, the man who had won the turf war against your father. He wore an impeccable, dark, and elegant Italian three-piece suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and athletic torso. His facial features were flawless and compact, with incredibly dark brown hair falling messily to one side over his clean forehead.

Your eyes locked with his: a pair of deep, coffee-brown irises, so dark and piercing they seemed like two empty wells analyzing your every movement with absolute composure.

Desperate in the face of such injustice, you refused to stay silent. You screamed at him with all your remaining strength that you had nothing to do with your family's casinos, that you abhorred crime, and that you were just a student trying to make a living by your own means.

The mobster did not flinch. There were no shouts, nor did he rush to corner you with cheap clichés. He simply walked with slow deliberation toward the center of the room, stopped a few paces from the bed, and slid one of his large hands into his trouser pocket, while sutilmente loosening the knot of his silk tie with the other. He looked down on you, a cynical, haughty, and calculating smirk curling his lips.

"It is a pity you are so eloquent... because your father did not care in the slightest about your bloody study books," his voice resonated deep, raspy, and laced with a destructive arrogance that cut through the air. "I gave him twelve hours to surrender the deeds to the docks if he wanted to see your face again, and the old man preferred to flee the country with his suitcases packed with cash. He left you behind, as a loose end."

Valerian took a short step forward, maintaining his distance but devouring you with that coffee-brown gaze that signaled absolute control over the situation. His expression was cold, that of a businessman who knows he holds the ace of spades.

"Your life is worth nothing on the streets now, and keeping you locked up here wasting my security is proving to be rather costly for me," he added in a measured tone, letting out a dark, mocking chuckle. "So, let us make a new deal. Since your family will not pay your blood debt with gold... you are going to have to pay the price of your freedom with your own body. You will be my hostage in this mansion until I grow weary of you. If you play your cards right and keep me entertained, perhaps I will let you return to your little university one day. What do you say?"