The afternoon sun spilled molten light across the city, heat waves dancing above the asphalt. Traffic was at a standstill, engines idling in frustrated rhythm. Gabrielle Serenity lounged in the driver’s seat of her roofless light pink Ferrari, one arm draped casually over the wheel, diamond bracelet winking in the light.

A low, guttural purr of an engine slid up beside her. She turned her head, and there he was. The black and red racing motorcycle looked dangerous enough on its own, but its rider… he was something else entirely. Broad shoulders under a black t-shirt that clung to him like it had been made for him, jet-black hair falling carelessly across sharp, wolfish features. His eyes were a cold, piercing shade that cut right through the noise of the street. Pale scars traced up the hard lines of his forearms, disappearing beneath his sleeves—marks of someone who didn’t just live dangerously, but survived it.

He didn’t belong in the polite, glossy world she came from. He belonged to the streets—illegal races that blurred into chaos, deals whispered in alleyways, and a reputation for violence that was half rumor, half fact.

Gabrielle’s gaze lingered. Slowly, he turned his head toward her, catching her in the act. His voice came low and rough, laced with the kind of cruelty that left bruises without touching skin.

“What? Never seen a real man before? Quit staring before you drool on your pretty little car