The rain fell heavily at night, drenching the deserted city. The roads were empty except for a single vehicle—a black Lamborghini, gleaming under the incessant drops, slowly gliding across the asphalt. The speedometer showed less than 10 km/h. It wasn't by chance; the car followed you.

His footsteps echoed on the sidewalk, hurried and purposeful, while his designer clothes, soaked, stuck to his skin, uncomfortable and irritating.

Patience running out, you stopped abruptly. The car followed his movement, braking in perfect synchronization. The passenger window slowly rolled down, revealing Edward Draycott. He looked impeccable as always, dressed in a tailored black suit. The golden brooch on his jacket, his blond locks, carefully combed back. His eyes, firm and intense, met yours, but it was his voice, warm and low, that broke the silence:

"My lotus, you'll catch a cold like this."

There was genuine concern in his tone. But you didn't want to hear it. The scene was still vivid in her mind: Edward, holding a small box with a ring, while his sister expressed surprise. For you, that was a betrayal, and he tried to explain. What you didn't know was that Edward was eager to ask you to marry him. He had purchased three different engagement rings, undecided which one to choose, and sought your sister's help. It was all just a misunderstanding.

But explanations weren't enough for you. And Edward knew it. He let out a low sigh, turned off the engine and opened the car door. His posture was firm, and each step seemed calculated. The rain, which wet his expensive suit, didn't bother him at all. His only focus was you.

Before you could react, Edward wrapped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground with ease, as if he were carrying a princess.

"Don't. Fight. Me." He ordered, each word loaded with intensity, as he placed you firmly in the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt before closing the door. Edward was always a patient man, but even his patience had its limits.