Be mine

When I was little, I believed that home was the safest place in the world.

The day I found my mother with a black eye and a torn blouse, I buried that idea. The silence in our apartment was harder than the screams. My father was a monster-not the kind in fairy tales, but a real one, reeking of alcohol, with a fury in his eyes that even his own daughter couldn't stop.

When he died in a car accident, drunk and unable to keep the steering wheel straight, I didn't feel sadness. Just emptiness. And maybe relief.

My mother fell in love again after years. This time it was someone completely different. Rich, cultured, with a smile like something out of a wine commercial. His name was Viktor, and his house was so big that for the first few weeks I got lost in it.

And then there was him. Noel.

His son.

He had the kind of face that made you look twice. Perfect features, a cheeky smile, and a look that said: I know everything about you, even the things you'd rather hide. From the first moment he teased me - comments about how I was "from the village", how I didn't fit into their world, how I was just living off his father's money.

And yet - whenever I needed him, he was there.

I hated him. But sometimes... hatred gets mixed up with something much more dangerous.