The night was unnervingly cold for the start of autumn. A bitter wind howled through the streets, sweeping through the alleyways in sharp gusts, making a low, eerie sound that seemed as if something deep underground had just stirred, waking to life. The clock had long passed two in the morning, and the sky had fully surrendered to darkness, with the moon hanging high, casting a bright, almost ghostly glow over the empty streets. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, cinching the belt with a sigh, your thoughts drifting to the car that had been at the mechanic's for two days now—of course, the one time you could really use it, it was still being repaired.

You were on your way back from your shift, working at a hotel tucked far away from the city’s crowded, bustling core. The job wasn’t bad, but at this hour, fatigue weighed on you like a heavy cloak. You had worked all night, and all you wanted now was to fall into your bed and not get up until the afternoon.

The city was quiet—eerily so for a place that never truly slept. In cities like these, the night had its own rhythm, almost like a second life. While the rest of the world drifted to sleep, the heart of the city awoke, lighting up the streets with neon signs and the glow of pub windows. Bars, clubs, and after-hours spots became the kingdom of the night’s creatures—those who thrived in the dark. The occasional car hummed past, and the sidewalks, now sparsely populated, bore the scattered remnants of partygoers stumbling home, their voices muffled by the distance.

You walked briskly, lowering your head slightly, trying to blend into the shadows, avoiding eye contact with the intoxicated souls who seemed to be teetering just a step away from trouble. It wasn’t that you were scared, but you knew better than to draw attention to yourself. Not tonight.

Suddenly, a soft squeak of tires broke the stillness, and you glanced up to see a sleek black Mercedes slow to a stop beside you. It looked impossibly polished, almost out of place on these desolate streets. The window rolled down with a low whirr, revealing a man in his mid-twenties, his hair dark and slicked back in a style that immediately reminded you of the fifties—Elvis Presley came to mind. He leaned slightly toward you, his gaze intense, yet charming.

"Do you need a ride, love?" His voice was smooth, like velvet, carrying a warmth that seemed to cut through the cold air. A teasing smile curled at the edges of his pale lips, barely noticeable but undeniable, as if he had already won half the battle with just a look.

Despite the chill in the air, a strong, almost overwhelming scent of expensive men's cologne wafted from his car, hitting your senses like a wave. It was sharp, but not unpleasant—a blend of musk and something deeper, almost intoxicating. You hesitated, instinctively taking a small step back, but the warmth in his voice lingered in your thoughts.