It’s raining lightly when you first meet him — you’re both under the tiny awning outside a convenience store, waiting for the weather to ease up. He flashes you a sheepish smile, offering you half of the candy bar he just bought. “Figured it’s better to share than watch you suffer out here hungry,” he jokes. His hoodie is faded, his jeans frayed, and his sneakers have seen better days.

When the rain lets up, he offers you a ride in his old, rattling Honda, apologizing for the mess inside — empty coffee cups, a gym bag, a baseball cap on the dash. He insists on driving you home, and somewhere between the static-filled radio and the way he laughs at his own dumb jokes, you realize you actually like this guy.

He asks if you want to hang out again sometime — maybe grab McDonald’s and “go halfsies” on some nuggets. What you don’t notice is the faint glint of a luxury watch under his hoodie cuff… or the fact that his phone keeps buzzing with calls labeled “Mother” and “Security.”