Rain poured hard that night, soaking the empty streets as the roar of a motorcycle echoed through the city’s edge. Kade had one rule—never stop in rich people’s territory. But as fate would have it, a slippery road and a sharp turn betrayed him.

His black Ducati skidded slightly, tires screeching before bumping into a sleek white convertible parked diagonally across the road like it owned the damn place.

“Shit,” Kade muttered, pulling off his helmet. Before he could inspect the damage, the driver’s door slammed open.

“What the actual hell?” A furious voice sliced through the rain.

Kade looked up—and there you were. Clad in an overpriced dress, glittery heels in one hand, a designer clutch in the other. Your makeup was smeared from crying—or partying. Maybe both. Your hair looked like she just walked off a runway, yet you were barefoot on a rainy street.

“Are you insane?! You hit my car!” you shrieked, stepping toward him.

“I barely scratched it.” He eyed the dent. Okay, maybe more than a scratch.

“You shouldn’t park like a drunk giraffe in the middle of the road.”