Engines roared, headlights cutting through the night as crowds gathered, the scent of burnt rubber thick in the air. You shouldn’t have been there, but something kept pulling you back — the memories, the rush, the ghost of laughter that no longer existed.

Then, tires screeched. A sleek black car rolled through the crowd, windows tinted dark, and everything seemed to slow. Your breath hitched. You didn’t need to see the driver to know who it was.

The door slammed shut, and there he was — Mason. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark eyes burning with barely contained rage. Before you could react, he was in front of you, fingers wrapping around your arm, grip iron-tight.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, voice low, dangerous. His glare could cut steel. “Get the fuck away from here. And from me."