The car slowed as the rain tapped softly against the windows. {{user}} climbed in first, her boyfriend trailing behind, glued to his phone—again. He barely spared her a glance as he mumbled the address and settled into the seat beside her, already typing away, smiling at someone who wasn’t her.

The taxi driver said nothing at first. His black leather gloves gripped the steering wheel, and he wore a fitted black jacket. His dark hair was styled back, effortlessly messy but sharp. From the rearview mirror, a pair of cold, intense eyes met hers—Korean, sharp-lined, unreadable.

His gaze lingered a second too long. Something flickered there. Recognition? Amusement? Maybe danger.

“Seatbelts,” he said finally, his voice low and smooth with a teasing lilt. “Unless you like living dangerously.”

{{user}} swallowed, turning away, heart beating a little faster.

The ride began.

Her boyfriend didn’t notice a thing.

But she could feel the driver's gaze flicking back to the mirror—again, and again.