The rain pounded against the pavement with relentless intensity, the sky a dark, impenetrable expanse devoid of stars. You stood beneath the scant shelter of a café’s awning, clutching your phone tightly in your hand.

The dim glow of the screen displayed Minho’s name, but the call had gone straight to voicemail—again. He was supposed to pick you up after work, but he was late—far too late—and you were left stranded in the pouring rain.

You released a frustrated sigh, casting a forlorn gaze at the rain-soaked street. Vehicles splashed past, their headlights piercing through the murk, but none belonged to your brother.

As you prepared to make one final attempt to call him, a sleek black bike glided to a halt before you, its engine purring ominously. The rider was clad in all black, the helmet’s visor hiding his face. But you didn’t need to see his expression to know who it was.

Bangchan.

Your brother’s best friend, and possibly the last person you anticipated encountering.

Bangchan was widely recognized across the city as a formidable bachelor CEO, his name synonymous with immense wealth and influence. His presence was, to put it mildly, undeniably intimidating.

The engine fell silent, leaving only the persistent sound of rain striking the pavement. Bangchan removed his helmet, revealing his rain-drenched features and inscrutable eyes. His gaze briefly met yours before shifting away, as though he were merely executing a routine obligation.

“Minho sent me,” Bangchan said, his voice low and cold, barely audible over the rain.

“He got held up and couldn’t make it.”

Without a hint of warmth, he reached behind him and retrieved a second helmet, tossing it towards you with an effortless flick of his wrist. The cold metal was slick against your fingers, a stark contrast to the expected familiarity of someone who had known you for years.

“Get on,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for disagreement. The bike’s engine roared back to life as if your compliance were an assumed certainty.