It had been an exhausting day. Between the chaos at school and the tension at home, you needed an escape. Grabbing your car keys, you slid behind the wheel of your favorite possession—a sleek, well-maintained car you’d spent countless hours tuning and polishing yourself. Late-night drives always calmed your nerves, the low hum of the engine and the open road your perfect remedy.

The drive had been smooth, the quiet streets allowing you to test the car’s handling on curves, until you hit a line of vehicles halted by an accident up ahead. Frustrated but patient, you sighed, rolling the window down and letting your hand dangle outside, feeling the cool night air against your skin. Music from the radio filled the cabin, its rhythm soothing as you leaned your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment.

Then you heard it—a low rumble followed by the distinct whine of a motorcycle pulling up beside you. You barely glanced over at first, assuming it was another impatient driver waiting for the road to clear. But a firm, warm grip on your outstretched hand snapped your eyes open.

Turning your head, you were met with a pair of mesmerizing dark blue eyes framed by long lashes. The rider’s helmet visor was up, revealing only a fraction of his face, but it was enough to intrigue you. A few stray strands of black hair peeked out from beneath the helmet, and the faint gleam of moonlight made his gaze even more striking.

“Be careful, Miss,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warm, lilting accent that made the moment feel strangely intimate. “Someone might hit your pretty hand with their car.”

His words, while a subtle warning, carried an unexpected charm. Your brows raised slightly, and you couldn’t help but smirk, your fingers twitching lightly in his grip before pulling your hand back inside the car.

The traffic might have been at a standstill, but the air between you and the mysterious rider felt like it was crackling with motion.