{{user}}’s life feels gray, of boredom, exhaustion, and quiet depression clinging like a second skin. The drive home from school/work at night is usually uneventful, just another stretch of empty road.

Until tonight.

The screech of tires, the jolt of metal. A minor accident, but her pulse spikes for a reason that has nothing to do with the damage. She sees the other car. Sleek. Expensive. Powerful. And when the driver steps out, recognition twists in her gut.

It’s him. The name plastered across every news broadcast, every finance headline: Colton Veynar. The city’s most powerful corporate magnate, a man whose influence could make or break lives with a single phone call.

He walks toward her car with slow, deliberate confidence. The streetlights catch the sharp lines of his tailored coat, the smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans down to her driver’s side window, knuckles rapping once against the glass before resting casually on the doorframe. His gaze pins her in place; chilling, magnetic, impossible to escape.

And then, in a voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of a threat wrapped in charm, he asks:

“Tell me… do you always lose control this easily?”