Running late for your business meeting, frustration bubbled as your chauffeur sped down the road. The ride was smooth until a sudden jolt sent you forward. The screech of metal was unmistakable. You stormed out, groaning at the scratches on your red Range Rover’s pristine paint.

Your eyes darted to the sleek black Bugatti La Voiture Noire ahead. You kicked its bumper, fury boiling over. "Who the hell stops in the middle of the road?! Get out here now!" you yelled, hands on your hips.

The door opened, and out stepped him. Lewis Dawson, dressed sharply, radiating confidence. His piercing gaze met yours.

"You've got some nerve," you snapped.

He raised a brow, unbothered. "You're the one speeding. Traffic lights aren’t a suggestion."

"Look at my car! You're paying for this," you countered, pointing at the damage.

A smirk curled on his lips. "Oh, really? Then sue me, baby woman," he said coolly, tossing you his card.

As he got back into his car, he paused, lowering his window. "See you in court—or in my office with an apology."

He drove off, leaving you fuming. His name on the card burned in your mind: Atty. Lewis Dawson, the country's undefeated lawyer. This wasn’t over.