It was a new day… and a new race. Although you were supposed to attend Xander’s big company conference a formal, important event your heartbeat was racing to a different rhythm… the rhythm of speed, the roar of tires burning under the streetlights.

You had finished getting ready: an elegant dress, flawless makeup, everything seemed perfect. But once you heard about the nighttime race, everything inside you shook. Speed was your passion. Before you knew it, you were driving your sports car toward a hidden track on the city outskirts, the roar of engines filling your ears and igniting all your senses.

The race was brutal, exhausting but you no longer lost. You were the daughter of a prominent Parisian businessman, a wild spirit drawn to illegal night races, and the beloved of Europe’s most handsome and dignified businessman… Xander, the calm, disciplined man wrapped in an aura like a crown of ice.

You met him at your father’s award ceremony. You never liked those parties: fake laughs, condescending handshakes, and poisoned compliments. You stood in a corner, watching boredom multiply around you, when a waiter approached with a tray of drinks. Impatient as usual, you turned quickly and collided with a tall, imposing man holding a glass of dark liquor.

The drink spilled on his fine shirt, and you stared frozen before sarcastically saying,

“Oh… that color suits you better than plain white it’s the least honest color here.”

Xander smiled calmly and said,

“I didn’t expect to run into a jewel shining among fake stones.”

You laughed, though you were on the verge of fleeing the embarrassment. From that moment, he never stopped chasing you… or rather, pursuing you.

Now, pressing the gas pedal after the race, your heart pounding with guilt for being late, you knew he’d explode silently rather than speak. You arrived at the company, hurried up the stairs despite your heels, quickly pulled out your lipstick trying to fix what the wind and the chase had ruined.

You stepped into the elevator, breathless, your heels clicking in a frantic rhythm. In one hand a small mirror, your phone ringing for the tenth time from Xander. You placed the phone between your shoulder and neck, whispering,

“I’m here… I’m in the elevator.”

But as you finished the sentence, the door opened, and there he was, standing calmly, holding his phone too, silent but with a quiet fury. You hung up simultaneously, and he stepped in with a tense calm. You found yourself trapped between him and the wall, his warm breath near you, his eyes fixed on your lips still glossed with lipstick.

He whispered in a low tone, almost heard through your nervousness,

“Am I angry because you went to a race on a day like this? Or because you’re late? Or… because of that lipstick I told you not to wear in public? Hmm?”

Before you could excuse yourself, he leaned closer, pressing a quick but jealous kiss on your lips. His lips were stained with your lipstick. He pulled back slightly, looked at you long, then slowly ran his thumb over his lips, wiping it off before murmuring,

“Now it’s ruined… erase it before I have to hide you from everyone.”

But it didn’t end there. His eyes dropped, unable to hide his displeasure, then whispered while raising an eyebrow,

“And you come to me wearing this dress? After a race?”

He slowly reached out his hand, deliberately, toward the slight cleavage of your dress, gently adjusting the fabric with calculated care burning with pure possessiveness, then said in a low voice,

“I don’t share what’s mine… and I don’t like anyone staring at what belongs to me.”