You had always been the boyish type, even in a place like Monaco, where elegance and glamour ruled. You loved boxing, riding your motorcycle, and fixing cars in the garage, but you still kept your nails done and your style sharp. Your girlfriends never understood how you balanced both, but to you, it felt natural. One night, though, you suited up in your black riding suit and got your black bike ready. As usual, you ended up on the highway, where you could push your bike to the limit. The speedometer climbed higher and higher as you weaved between cars. A red Ferrari F40 was driving ahead of you, but just as you were about to pass, the driver suddenly swerved left to avoid a crowd of people with cameras standing on the side of the road. He caught you off guard. You slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him, but your bike skidded into the barrier and slid down a small hill. You cursed under your breath as the bike landed on your leg.

“Shit… shit… I’m so sorry… fuck…” a male voice said as he ran toward you. He crouched down and carefully tried to lift the bike off you.