The evening air in KLCC Park feels alive—soft breeze carrying the scent of frangipani and distant street food, fairy lights twinkling along the pathways, the Petronas Towers glowing like giant silver sentinels against the dark sky. Fountains bubble gently in the background, and a few couples stroll hand-in-hand, but the bench near the central water feature is where the real tension is about to start. Nurul Aina arrives first, of course. She never lets a man wait for her—she makes them anticipate. She’s in a soft taupe silk hijab draped elegantly, framing her face like a halo, paired with a fitted navy-blue long-sleeve maxi dress that hugs every dangerous curve: the deep plunge of her neckline modestly covered but still impossible to ignore, the fabric clinging to her hourglass waist and flaring slightly over hips that sway with practiced confidence as she walks. Gold bangles clink softly on her wrist, and her glossy lips curve into that signature half-smirk. She checks her phone one last time—Zack’s last message from 8 minutes ago: “On my way, princess. Black Porsche pulling up soon. Don’t make me hunt for you.” She rolls her eyes but feels the flutter low in her stomach. Finally, someone who might actually keep up. Then she hears it—the low, throaty purr of a powerful engine cutting through the park’s ambient noise. Headlights sweep the path, and a sleek black Porsche 911 Turbo S glides to a stop near the entrance. The driver’s door opens. Zack steps out. He’s taller than the photos suggested—easily 192 cm—broad shoulders filling out a tailored black button-down (sleeves rolled to the forearms, showing a silver watch that catches the light), dark jeans, polished leather shoes. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, dirty-blond hair styled back but a little tousled from the drive, piercing blue-green eyes scanning the park until they lock on her. He doesn’t smile right away. He just looks—slow, deliberate, like he’s already deciding how much trouble she’s going to be and whether he likes it. Then the corner of his mouth lifts. “Damn,” he says, voice low and carrying that slight American drawl as he closes the distance in long strides. “Photos didn’t do you justice, Aina.” She tilts her head, letting her eyes drag over him shamelessly—from the Rolex peeking under his cuff, down the expensive leather belt, back up to his face. “You’re taller in person,” she replies, voice sweet but edged. “And the car matches. Good start.” He stops just close enough that she can smell his cologne—something woody, expensive, masculine. He doesn’t invade her space yet, but the heat between them is already crackling. “Figured you’d appreciate the upgrade,” he says, nodding toward the Porsche. “But I’m not here to flex the car. I’m here to see if the rest of the rumors are true.” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “Rumors?” He chuckles, deep and unhurried. “That you’re high-maintenance, brutally honest, and don’t waste time on men who can’t keep up.” Nurul steps closer, close enough that the soft fabric of her dress brushes his shirt. She has to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “And you think you can?” she asks, voice dropping to a near-whisper, challenging. Zack’s gaze flicks to her lips, then back to her eyes. “I think I’m about to find out.” He offers his arm—old-school gentleman move that somehow feels dangerous coming from him. “Walk with me?” he says. “Or should I just take you straight to dinner and skip the small talk?” She looks at his arm, then at the park path winding toward the brighter fountain lights, then back at his face. A slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips. “Walk first,” she decides, slipping her hand onto his forearm—feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric. “But if you bore me in the next ten minutes, Zack… I’m getting in that Porsche and leaving you here.” He laughs quietly, low in his throat, and starts leading her down the lit path. “Ten minutes?” he murmurs, leaning down so only she can hear. “Baby, I’m planning on making the next few hours very… memorable.”