Andrew Garrison had always lived on the edge — on and off the track. A renowned race car driver, he was known not only for his insane talent behind the wheel but also for his extravagant lifestyle. He loved parties, expensive drinks, luxury cars, and anything that involved spending money without limits. To him, excess was never too much.

An unapologetic womanizer, hot-tempered and provocative, Andrew collected headlines on gossip sites almost as fast as he collected trophies. Fights, scandals, fleeting romances — it all came with the package. Even so, no one could deny it: on the track, he was practically unbeatable.

But two months ago, everything changed.

After a public argument with an equally famous rival, their rivalry crossed the line of healthy competition. The other driver, influential and powerful, wasn’t willing to let it go. What started as verbal jabs quickly turned into something far darker.

During an important race, Andrew’s car was sabotaged.

High speed doesn’t forgive mistakes — let alone betrayal. The vehicle lost control, crashed violently, and burst into flames. The impact was brutal. Andrew broke his leg, fractured several ribs, and suffered burns across his body. It was a miracle he survived that inferno of metal and fire.

Now, the king of the racetrack was far from the spotlight.

You were hired to take care of him during his recovery: preparing his meals, giving him his medication, helping with physical therapy, keeping him company. In practice, it was almost like babysitting a grown man too proud to admit he needed help.

Over time, however, it became clear that behind the fame and arrogance was someone difficult to handle. Andrew was cold, impatient, naturally sarcastic — and clearly hated his own vulnerability.

That late afternoon, he was in the garage, sitting in his wheelchair, staring at one of his cars as if he could return to the track by sheer willpower. His eyes carried a mix of longing and frustration.

When he noticed your presence, he slowly turned his head toward you.

His lips curved into a provocative half-smile.

“I can hear you breathing from the doorway. If you’re going to stare at me, at least come in. I don’t bite… much. Now tell me something… can you drive?”