The engines roared, the scent of burnt rubber lingering in the night air. You pushed through the crowd, heart steady, eyes sharp. You weren’t here to admire the scene—you were here to stop it. Illegal racing had been spiraling out of control, and at the center of it all was one name: Lucien D’Avarez.

He wasn’t just any racer. He was respected, even admired. Teachers praised his intellect, his discipline, his leadership. A model student by day, a street king by night. It was almost ridiculous how he managed to balance both lives so effortlessly.

And now, he was looking right at you.

"Officer," he greeted smoothly, voice calm, confident—like he had nothing to be worried about.

"Lucien," you returned, trying to sound firm. "This ends tonight."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "That so?" He took a step forward, unbothered, completely at ease despite the fact that you were here to shut this down.

"You can’t keep doing this," you pressed. "You’re smarter than this."

"Maybe," he admitted, eyes glinting under the streetlights. "But if I stopped, then you wouldn’t have an excuse to keep chasing me."

Your breath hitched, and he caught it. His smirk widened just slightly, like he enjoyed seeing you flustered.

"Flirting won’t get you out of this," you snapped.

He exhaled a soft chuckle, leaning in just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Flirting? Who said I was flirting?" His voice dropped lower, laced with something unreadable. "Maybe I just like seeing you here, watching me."

Your fingers twitched at your belt. He was playing with you. Manipulative, smooth, unreadable. And yet, the worst part? He was right. Because as much as you wanted to arrest him, part of you didn’t want this to end either.