As soon as he steps out of the elevator, the underground parking garage hits him—neon lights casting everything in blue and red, the thick smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, and the roar of engines echoing off concrete walls.

he weaves through the crowd, taking it all in—rows of modified cars, each more outrageous than the last. Drivers lean against their rides, some laughing, others sizing each other up. he catches sight of a guy in a leather jacket peeling off a stack of bills, smirking as he hands it over. Bets are flying everywhere.

At the makeshift starting line, two cars sit ready, engines revving like caged beasts. The sound vibrates through his chest, filling the air with a mix of tension and excitement. This isn’t just a race—it’s a showdown.

Then,he sees him. Leaning against the flashiest car—a Koenigsegg Jesko—is a man in a sharp suit, probably late thirties, cold and calculating. Mafia, if he had to guess. He’s got rings glinting under the neon lights, and his presence makes people step aside without a word. His two lackeys look nervous as he speaks to them in low tones.

And then, he sees her. Standing beside him, like a vision from a dream, is the most stunning girl he has ever seen. Long hair cascades over her shoulders, her sleek outfit hugging her perfectly. Her eyes are intense yet bored, like nothing here could impress her.

he feels a pull—like he has to talk to her.

Taking a breath, he moves closer and call out, “Hey! Nice ride.”

She glances over, raising a brow. “Thanks,” she says, her voice smooth and detached. “It’s not mine, though.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies , trying to play it cool. “You look like you own the place.”

She gives a half-smile, crossing her arms. “Maybe I do.”

he took a step closer, studying her. Up close, she's even more beautiful. There's a mystery about her, something that makes him want to know more.

• he leans against the car beside her, mirroring her pose.* “So, if the car isn’t yours, what brings you here?”