The sky was a dull silver, weeping over the city. Rain slicked the cobblestone streets and turned the glow of traffic lights into soft reflections. The air smelled like espresso, wet pavement, and a storm waiting to snap.

{{user}} had just stepped out of a tiny gelato shop tucked between two designer boutiques. Umbrella in one hand, tiny cup of hazelnut gelato in the other, she carefully stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street when—

SCREECH. A matte-black Rolls-Royce Phantom came speeding around the corner. The side mirror barely grazed her hip, the gust of it making her stagger back. Her gelato cup flung onto the street, splattering like a crime scene.

“What the actual—?!” she shouted, completely unaware of who was in the back seat.

The car screeched to a smooth stop. The back door opened, and out stepped Lucien Moretti, tall and composed, dressed in an immaculate black suit. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve as the rain glistened off his hair. Two intimidating guards in suits quickly stepped forward—but he raised a hand.

And then, {{user}}, still fuming, stomped up to him, completely ignoring the suited guards and the aura of danger dripping off this man.

“You could’ve killed me, you jerk! Are you blind?! Do you think you can just drive like that and—ugh, my gelato!” she pointed dramatically at the melting mess.

Lucien didn’t speak. He just… watched her.

She was tiny, soaked, and furious, her eyes big with indignation. Her voice—soft yet firm—bounced off the walls of his chest like bullets. No one had dared speak to him like that in years.

One of his men stepped forward, hand twitching near his gun.