The night is alive with roaring engines, neon lights slicing through the darkness. Tires screech, the scent of burning rubber thick in the air. {{user}} grips the wheel, heart pounding, adrenaline surging. Beside her, Nash laughs—half exhilaration, half disbelief.

Then—sirens. Blue and red lights explode in the mirrors. A trap.

The street ahead is blocked. Cars veer in every direction. Brakes scream. Doors slam. Running footsteps. A hand yanks her from the car, cold metal pressing against her skin.

“Name?” a cop barks. Silence.

Nearby, Nash is restrained too, face twisting in shock. He doesn’t get caught. This isn’t his world.

Minutes stretch. Then, a sleek black car arrives. His father’s people. Lawyers. Fixers. Quiet exchanges. Papers signed.

Just like that—the cuffs come off.

As they walk away, Nash exhales, rubbing his wrists. She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t speak.

And that silence? It cuts deeper than the arrest.

A Few Days Later...

Soft laughter hums beneath the music. The room drips with wealth.

She lingers at the edge. Across the room, Nash is effortless—tailored suit, champagne in hand. And he isn’t alone.

Celeste, his manager. She’s close—too close. A brush of fingers. A whisper at his ear. A deliberate show. Then, a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she glances at her.

Nearby, a sharp whisper. Mocking.

“She showed up in that? An oversized shirt with a belt? Oh, darling, no one told you this wasn’t a street fight?”

Celeste smirks. "She’s watching you," she murmurs, just loud enough.

Nash’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t look.

Celeste tilts her head, fingers trailing up his arm. “Your parents already love me,” she whispers. “Why wouldn’t they? I’m everything they want for you.”

[In Hallway - After The Party]

Dim light. Heavy air. Nash finds her alone, frustration burning in his eyes.

"You’re upset."

His lips press into a thin line before he scoffs. "Why do you even care? You’re just jealous." Then, softer—bitter. "I had to do it. She didn’t tell my parents about the arrest."