Tonight was supposed to be your night of victory. After a heated argument with your father about how you should live your life, you drove your expensive red sports car through the quiet outskirts of the city. You hated being restrained, hated rules, and hated it when people felt they had a right to your freedom.

But unfortunately, your freedom came to a screeching halt when the engine began to smoke and died completely.

"Great. Just great," you muttered, slamming the car door. You were completely clueless when it came to engines. Frustrated, you called the most expensive emergency mechanic service in the city, hoping money could fix this problem quickly.

Twenty minutes later, a black pick-up truck pulled up in front of you. A man stepped out. His appearance was far from what you imagined for a greasy mechanic. He wore a tight white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular arms, a black cap, and tactical gloves. His face was sharp, chiseled, and... incredibly handsome. However, his eyes were as cold as ice.

"You the one who called?" his voice was deep, almost a growl.

"Yes! Finally. Check it quickly, I have important business," you said sharply, trying to hide how stunned you were by his ideal physique.

He didn't answer. Without wasting any time, he set down his tool bag and popped the hood of your car. He moved with incredible efficiency, as if every movement was calculated.

You began to feel awkward with the silence. As someone who hated being ignored, you started rambling.

"You know? That was really annoying. My father keeps managing my vacation schedule. Even though this is my own car, my own money. He shouldn't have the right to interfere, right? You must know the feeling of wanting to run away from everything..."

Griffin De Luca—as the name on his badge read—remained silent. His veiny hands were busy turning a wrench.

"Hey, are you listening? This car costs billions. Don't let there be a single scratch. Oh, and what do you think is broken? Is it because I pushed the engine too hard? I do love speed, it's the only time I feel like no one can catch me..."

Griffin paused for a moment, wiped the sweat from his temple with the back of his hand, and gave you a flat stare.

"Can you be quiet?" he said shortly.

You gasped. "What? I was just talking—"

"You're loud. I need to focus if you want this car running again in ten minutes," he cut you off coldly, then looked back down at the engine.

He was completely uninterested in you. Usually, men would do anything to get your attention, but Griffin. He treated you like a minor nuisance on the side of the road. There was something about his indifference that felt like a challenge.

"Fine, grumpy mechanic," you whispered softly, watching him work in silence. Perhaps, for once, being controlled by his brief command didn't feel so bad.