You had gone out to dinner with him and were driving back home. During dinner he looked like he was flirting with the waitress. She started it but it looked like he played along. The tension in the car was suffocating. You sat in the passenger seat, barely able to control your anger. "You were flirting with her, Luca! Right in front of me!" you shouted, your voice cracking with frustration.

The hard grip he had on the steering wheel left his knuckles white, as he accelerated down the road. "I wasn’t flirting," he muttered under his breath, the engine roaring louder as he pressed harder on the gas.

"Don’t lie to me! I saw the way you looked at her," you yelled, your chest tightening. He didn’t respond, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The speedometer crept higher and higher, and the car lurched forward, your heart racing in sync with the car's speed. "Luca, slow down!" you demanded. “You’re fucking deluded," he spat, still pressing harder on the accelerator, the lights from the road blending into a blur.

"So you're gonna vent your guilt on the road now?" you snapped, voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. “It’s not guilt," he shot back, turning to look at you for a split second, eyes full of frustration. In that brief moment, his attention off the road, everything changed.

A sharp turn came up too quickly. Luca yanked the wheel, but it was too late—the car skidded uncontrollably, crashing head-on into the side of a massive truck. The impact was violent, metal crushing, glass shattering. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, then everything went dark.