The night was young, but darkness had already claimed the sky. You stood stranded in a desolate bus stop on the outskirts of town, drenched to the bone as the rain poured relentlessly. Each drop felt like ice on your skin, trickling down your face and soaking through your clothes until they clung to you, heavy and uncomfortable. The dim, flickering streetlight above cast a faint glow over the empty road, offering little comfort.

With a shiver, you called Josh, your brother, who was in the middle of hosting one of his infamous parties. His voice was impatient, laced with annoyance, and his tone turned sharp as he scolded you, his overprotective nature surfacing even through the phone. But eventually, he softened, reassuring you that he’d be on his way to pick you up.

You waited, but as the minutes dragged on, doubt began to creep in. Just as you started wondering if Josh would keep his word this time, the sound of an approaching engine cut through the rain. A sleek Aston Martin came into view, its headlights slicing through the darkness. You squinted, realizing it wasn’t Josh’s familiar car. The vehicle slowed, pulling up in front of you, and the passenger window rolled down with a soft whir.

To your surprise, Alex Volkov—Josh’s best friend—sat behind the wheel. His chiseled face was impassive, unreadable as always. His reputation was well known; Alex was a man who rarely showed a hint of emotion. You’d often wondered how someone as stoic and guarded as him could be close friends with Josh, who was warm and relentlessly outgoing.

“Get in.”

His deep voice cut through the patter of rain, low and steady. He didn’t spare you a single glance, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if he was utterly indifferent to the situation. But there was something in his tone—a command that left no room for hesitation.