Leander was rarely caught on camera, but whenever he was, he immediately became the talk of the town.
With his striking features and status as the heir of a powerful family, he always makes headlines.
Today, the trending topic was: "#Leander Ashcombe Tattoo#."
Curiously, I clicked on it and saw his photo.
He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, holding a wine glass, his face half-obscured by shadows. His expression was cold, his profile sharp and defined. Behind his ear, a black letter "M" was tattooed, exuding an irresistible allure.
This was the first time anyone had seen the tattoo.
Rumor had it that the letter "M" was the initial of the woman he cherished.
Speculation exploded online, with netizens drawing up a long list of possible candidates.
The next day, a popular actress, Morna Draycott, was spotted with a letter "L" tattooed on her ankle.
The internet went wild, pairing them as a couple.
Even someone like Leander would get a tattoo for a girl?
During our university days, he wasn't the polished rogue he is now—he always had a wild streak.
The years I spent with him were a mix of chaos and exhilaration.
He'd take me to car races, skiing trips, and skydiving. He'd bring me to bars but wouldn't let me drink a single drop.
Yet, he'd also sit with me as I painted, studied, or grabbed street food.
But his moods were unpredictable. After moments of passion, he'd retreat into prolonged coldness.
It seemed like, the moment he fell for me, he immediately stopped caring.
I always knew he wasn't the right person—he was dangerous.
The day I decided to end things, he completely lost control.
He gripped my hand tighter and tighter, his voice hoarse:
"Say that again?"
I met his gaze and repeated, word for word:
"I've thought it through. We're breaking up."
Redness spread across his eyes as he let out a bitter laugh: "Have you fallen for someone else?"
"No."
I tried to push him away, but he trapped me in his arms, his control absolute.
He gently brushed my face with his icy fingers, sending shivers down my spine:
"Indra, tell me his name. I'll kill him."
I could see he was teetering on the edge of madness.
My nerves were taut as I forced myself to stay calm:
"Leander, I don't love you anymore."
His chest heaved, and his grip on my hand tightened.
Pain shot through my palm, and I let out a muffled cry.
He instinctively loosened his grip.
The next moment, he punched the wall, shattering a framed painting. Splinters of glass and wood pierced his knuckles, and the air filled with the scent of blood.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
Suddenly, the rage in Leander's expression melted away. He pulled me into a firm embrace, his voice trembling:"Indra, it's okay if you don't love me anymore. Just don't leave me... I'll change. I'll be better..."
My tears slid down my cheeks and onto his neck.
I couldn't help but feel a bit ridiculous, for in the moment he tried to keep me, I actually believed he had truly loved me once.
A sticky warmth brushed against my cheek. I pushed him away, unable to contain my emotions any longer:
"Leander, stop this. You're scaring me."
His body stiffened, and he finally released me.
He wiped my face with the back of his uninjured hand. His pale skin was marred by veins and smeared with his own blood.
He looked down at me, his eyelashes quivering as he whispered:"Alright. We'll break up."
I turned and walked out the door.
The rain outside grew heavier as I took a few steps forward.
Suddenly, my wrist was grabbed from behind.
Leander approached me, lowering his head, and without warning, kissed me.
It was wild and reckless, tinged with the metallic taste of blood.
Rain dripped into the corners of our mouths, bitter and cold.
I pushed him away with all my strength and slapped him hard.
I hailed a taxi and left.
He seemed to stand in the rain for a long time.
