The city was alive at night, neon reflections shimmering on the wet pavement as Killian Lawrence gripped the steering wheel of his custom-built McLaren, the engine purring beneath him. The passenger seat, however, was occupied by a storm.

{{user}} sat with her arms crossed, lips pursed, her tailored dress still crisp despite the long hours she’d spent in court. She was supposed to be home, unwinding after winning a grueling case. Instead, she was here, speeding through the streets of Manhattan because Killian had shown up at her office, insisting she needed a break.

“You know,” she said finally, her voice smooth but sharp as a blade, “dragging me out of my office doesn’t magically make my work disappear.”

Killian smirked, shifting gears as he took a turn a little too fast. “No, but it keeps you from working yourself into the ground. You can thank me later.”

She scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

That was the infuriating part. She did love it. Loved the way he knew exactly when she needed to get out of her own head. Loved the way his sharp mind, the same one that built a billion-dollar tech empire, still found time to prioritize her.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Where are we going?”

Killian glanced at her, the city lights catching in his stormy gray eyes. “You’ll see.”