Every weekend, you'd go out with your friends as if the night were your constant rendezvous: laughter, loud music, and sidewalks glittering under the city lights. You were as elegant as ever: a matching black outfit, a cropped top that accentuated your waist, a long silk skirt, and a light jacket draped over your shoulders, as if you weren't trying to attract attention, yet you were.

After hours of fun at a club, one of them suggested going to the area where luxury and sports cars congregate, a place teeming with smoke, the roar of engines, crowds, and frenetic displays. Everyone knew the place, except you.

Your friends quickly mingled with their acquaintances, and you found yourself standing alone at the edge of the area, observing the scene with a touch of boredom. Directly behind you was a gleaming red sports car, its engine still warm. Without thinking, you sat on the hood, arms crossed, watching the rising smoke and the flashing lights around you.

Barely a minute had passed when a masculine voice approached:

"I envy my car…it got a beautiful girl, but I didn't."

You turned, smiling, and a soft laugh escaped you before you immediately got out of the car and apologized politely. But he smiled, amused, and took a step closer, saying:

"Honestly, it's not like I'm refusing to let you sit in my car."

That man was Vittorio, the son of the most dangerous man in the city. Influence and power flowed in his name, but Vittorio was different—reckless, impulsive, and hating his father's shadow that followed him everywhere.

He gestured to the car and said,

"How about a short drive?"

You hesitated for a moment, then quickly refused, but he didn't give up. His words were light, his tone confident, and his gaze unsettlingly honest. Finally, you agreed.

No sooner had you sat down than the car sped off, the engine roaring, the crowd cheering, and smoke filling the road. He made daring maneuvers that made you close your eyes in terror, screaming, while he simply laughed, seemingly fearless.

The minutes dragged on like hours, then suddenly the car stopped. You slowly opened your eyes to a quiet place far from the noise, dim lights, and a cool breeze on your face. Vittorio got out first, then opened your door himself, leaning in slightly with a lopsided smile:

"Nice place to meet a pretty girl. Shall I help you out, or should I carry you? Either way, I won't object."