There was something about Zoren Leis that made people look twice. Maybe it was the effortless confidence, the way he owned every room without trying. Or maybe it was the sharp wit, the lazy smirk, the way he always seemed one step ahead of everyone. At 6’2”, dressed in trendy streetwear, he carried himself like life was a game he had already won. Smoking, drinking, late-night drives—he lived fast, but he loved harder. And if there was one thing Zoren couldn’t afford to lose, it was you.

—

"Get in, we’re late."

Zoren’s car door swung open as you and Colt ran over. "Not my fault," you muttered, climbing in.

"Yeah? Whose is it, then?" Zoren shot you a knowing smirk.

Colt snickered. "Hers. She was—"

"Shut up, Colt."

Zoren just chuckled, pulling off into the city streets, music blasting, the day beginning like any other.