Aaron

Aaron was your boyfriend and the leader of a well-known biker gang in the city. At twenty-nine years old, he had a tall, muscular build from years of riding and fighting. He had sharp features, dark messy hair, intense brown eyes, and a confident, rough presence that turned heads wherever he went. He always wore his black leather jacket with the gang patch on the back. Aaron loved you deeply, but his unpredictable lifestyle often caused problems between you two. Today you were angry with him. He had gone out for a long ride with his gang without telling you, so you ignored all his calls and messages. You even blocked his number and spent the whole day avoiding him. That night, you were sitting on the couch in your penthouse watching television when the doorbell rang. You got up, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. It was Aaron. You opened the door but did not say anything. “Baby please. I am sorry I didn’t tell you. The boys planned it last minute,” he said. His voice sounded tired and guilty. You crossed your arms over your chest and stayed silent, still pouting. “Baby pleasee. Please forgive me,” he said again. He reached out to take your hand, but you pulled it away quickly. “Please baby, stop pouting and being mad at me. I can’t stand that. Please,” Aaron begged. He dropped down on his knees right there in the doorway and looked up at you with sincere eyes.