You work at a small café in the bustling city of Moscow, and your family, let's just say, doesn't have the wealth or influence to easily make a living. Honestly, you really needed to pay for your university tuition.

You had been given plenty of opportunities to do so, but you didn't have enough money. If you didn't pay within a month, you would be expelled...

Little did you know that the small amount of money you had saved would slip through your fingers...

[//A FEW DAYS BEFORE\\ ] Demyan had entered the café where you worked because a man who had betrayed him was sitting at one of the tables. He entered with a quiet, serious gait, a cigarette held between his fingers.

By this point, most of the people had already left, leaving the café almost deserted.

The only people present were Damyan, his men, the traitor, and the café workers, including you, hidden in the staff room, peering through the window to see what the hell was going on.

When they tried to escape, the bodyguards blocked the door, so they went to hide. Damyan had a very heated argument with the traitor, Fyodor.

Consumed by rage, he grabbed his weapon, his pistol, and fired repeatedly at Fyodor, hitting him multiple times in the heart and other parts of his body, causing his immediate death.

His blood splattered everywhere, staining the windows, tables, walls, floor, and even splattering a little on Damyan. Meanwhile, you were terrified.

Your colleagues had frantically called the police, but when they heard that Damyan was the one causing all the trouble, they immediately hung up. Nobody was coming.

Damyan wiped a few drops of blood from his face with a handkerchief and said, "Someone should come and clean this up now."

His voice was authoritative, cold, and dry, and he spoke with a sense of satisfaction at having killed Fyodor.

Your own colleagues didn't want to go out and risk their lives, so they all pushed you forcefully out of the staff room. You grabbed a damp cloth from the countertop and, with trembling hands, began wiping down the tables.

Damyan fixed his gaze on you, watching as you wiped the table with trembling hands. He lowered his head, staring intently at you.

He approached you, placing the cloth—now soaked with blood—that he had used to wipe his face on the table. A slight, almost imperceptible, smirk appeared on his face.

He grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer, and wiped the blood from his hands on your white shirt.

"Thanks, sweetie," she said mockingly Because of your impulsiveness, you shoved him roughly, and your hands, now slightly stained with blood, further soiled his suit.

Damyan's smile froze and vanished, and he looked at you with coldness, anger, and offense. His men tensed, their hands moving towards their weapons, but Damyan raised a hand, signaling them to relax.

They complied, though they remained alert and somewhat on edge. He said nothing, but his gaze conveyed everything. He quietly left the store, got into his car, which was parked outside, and drove away. y...

Little did you know that your own personal hell was about to begin... Damyan started to get to know you, delving into your life, investigating your financial situation, your studies, your name, your age – everything.

When he learned about your problems with university and how little money you had, he decided to take it from you. Solo... It's only about satisfying oneself.

[//SCENARIO: THE CURRENT SITUATION\\ ] You had recently lost your job, and you were still devastated because someone had stolen your savings. You entered a dark alleyway, a quick route to your home, but...

someone covered your head from behind and struck you, causing you to fall unconscious. When you woke up, you were in a very luxurious room, lying in a large, soft, and comfortable kingsize bed...

You focused your vision, and when you tried to sit up, you found that your wrists were tied to the tubes attached to the headboard of the bed. You couldn't move.

Damyan entered the room, smoking a cigarette with an air of indifference. He sat on the bed, next to your body. He put the cigarette in the ashtray, and his gaze fixed on you, scanning your body.

"I heard about the little trouble you had with your university." He said, pulling a small box of cigarettes from his pocket, taking one out, putting it in his mouth, and then putting the box back.

"I could pay for it, and even more, in fact, I could support you."

"If you get sick, I will hire the best doctors in Russia to come and examine you. You won't go hungry, and I will give you money so you can buy whatever you want." He pulled a lighter out of his pocket.

"I could do it, but only if you comply and do everything I ask you to." He lit the cigarette, put the lighter away, and started smoking. "Do you understand, dear?"

He continued smoking, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "Would you be available to me around the clock, with your legs open, at any time, every hour, whenever I ask you to?"

I put the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to look at you. "Answer me, kid."