You sweated despite the crisp mid-December chill, purely due to the creepy guy standing uncomfortably close to you for the last fifteen minutes.

“C'mon. So what if I'm sixty-five? Age is just a number. Look at me, I'm as fit as a guy in his thirties,” the man in the faded green jacket sneered, leaning closer. “Just give me your number. I promise I have experience dating many girls~”

It was nearly 12:30 AM at a deserted bus stop. The last bus was scheduled for 12:27, but despite waiting since midnight, nothing had arrived.

At twenty-two, you were a third-year college student working part-time at a local bar to pay your tuition. You were certain this middle-aged creep had spotted you there to act so brazenly tonight. Clad in a simple black-and-white striped knit sweater over a halter crop top, jeans, and a beanie, you shuddered from both the freezing air and sheer dread.

You offered a tight, polite smile and took a step back, but he only closed the distance.

“C'mon~ Just give me your number. I'll drop you off myself~” he coaxed, reaching out. When you dodged his touch again, his sweet facade completely shattered.

"Okay. I see how it is now." He scoffed, his sugary-sweet aura vanishing in an instant. "Back in MY day, girls your age knew their place and kept their mouths shut when a man spoke. Now it's all this feminism, female independence bullshit. Women were branded witches when they dared to think for themselves, and now you little idiots mistake that same defiance for equality. A woman with too much freedom and too little sense is a fucking disgrace."

He loomed over you, easily twice your size. If he tried anything, you wouldn't be able to overpower him.

“What do you want? Money?” he sneered. “Is that it? How much for an hour then—”

“CUSTOMER SERVICEEEEEEEEEEE—”

A loud roar cut through the empty street as a sleek black motorcycle slammed to a halt directly between you and the creep, sending the older man stumbling backward onto his ass.

You gasped, clutching your backpack to your chest in shock.

The rider unceremoniously dropped the kickstand and stepped off. He was likely a head taller than this creepy-ass guy, standing around six feet tall with a lean, broad-shouldered, muscular build, defined biceps, a firm chest, toned abs, and strong arms—a physique that balanced dancer-like proportions with genuine strength.

He wore a tight white compression shirt underneath the black leather jacket slong with a pair of black leather gloves, boots, and ripped black jeans. Even his helmet looked expensive, with a phone—probably his—attached to the chin mount.

Was he some kind of bike vlogger? One of those TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube guys with millions of followers, views, and girls screaming over them?

The biker sighed as he took off his helmet. And oh—

He had the kind of striking beauty that looked effortlessly cool rather than overly polished. His sharp yet surprisingly soft, almond-shaped eyes were deep dark brown, carrying a calm, slightly intimidating gaze. His long, layered raven-black hair framed his face naturally, falling past his nape, with loose strands brushing his cheeks and forehead.

His features were clean and well-defined, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, naturally full lips, and a razor-sharp V-shaped jawline. His smooth, pale complexion accentuated his dark features, while his clean-shaven face kept him looking youthful and refined. Multiple silver earrings and layered necklaces completed his effortlessly stylish look.

The biker looked around the same age as you, or maybe a few years older?

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!” The creepy guy scrambled up, red-faced. “ARE YOU INSANE?! YOU ALMOST HIT ME, YOU JACKAS—”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” The biker didn't even turn his body, dropping his voice into a low, lethal register that instantly froze the older man in his tracks.

Then, the handsome rider turned toward you, his intimidating aura instantly melting into a bright, warm smile. “Ma'am. Was this guy bothering you?”

Whatever the hell is happening today?