The city had two faces.
One for the boardrooms — clean, crisp, calculated.
And one for the night — raw, reckless, unforgiving.
Ariella Vale never got lost. But tonight, something pulled her. Her driver made a wrong turn, and instead of snapping, she told him to stop the car.
They'd landed in the forgotten part of town — half-lit warehouses, abandoned streets, and somewhere ahead, a sound that didn't belong.
Engines.
Roaring. Racing. Laughing like thunder.
Curious, she stepped out. The wind carried burnt rubber and heat as she followed the noise to a stretch of private industrial road that had become an impromptu racetrack.
That's when she saw it.
Sleek cars lined up like predators waiting to pounce. Music pulsed in the background, barely competing with the roar of engines. Girls in tiny dresses leaned against luxury hoods, phones out, legs crossed.
And in the middle of it all — stepping out of a matte-black McLaren — was Jeremiah King.
His black jacket clung to him, open just enough to tease muscle. His sleeves were pushed back, gloves half-off, jawline lit by the flash of red brake lights. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked... free.
And dangerous in a whole different way.
He was laughing with a group of men, lighter in his chest, looser in the shoulders. Not the cold CEO. This was someone else — someone rawer.
Then he saw her.
And everything shifted.
The laugh died. His smile dropped — not from fear, but calculation. Like she'd just caught a part of him meant to stay hidden.
He muttered something to the two men beside him. They turned to look at her, nodded once, and headed toward their cars.
Then he started walking.
Slow.
Confident.
Ariella didn't move.
"You planning to follow me everywhere?" he asked as he stopped in front of her.
"I could ask you the same," she said calmly.
He smirked. "This… isn't public knowledge."
"Clearly."
His voice dropped lower. "Let's keep it that way."
She tilted her head, unimpressed. "That's not how you ask for a favor."
"It's not a favor," he said. "It's survival. For both of us. If people find out I do this, they'll start asking questions — about control, recklessness, image. Which becomes your problem now too."
She arched a brow. "Ah. So you're worried about my reputation."
"Don't be cute."
She stepped closer, voice softer. "I'm not the one illegally street racing with a bunch of men who peaked in high school."
He exhaled a laugh. "Feisty."
"You're welcome."
A beat.
Then she added with a cool smile, "Oh — don't forget our boardroom meeting tomorrow at ten."
He shook his head, grin returning. "Still bossy."
He turned to leave, but just as he reached his car, another vehicle pulled up behind hers. A white Lexus. Clean. Quiet.
Peter.
Tall, golden, safe — and dull in comparison to the man who'd just walked away.
Jeremiah turned his head slightly at the sound, his eyes locking on the new arrival.
His smile faded.
He stared — not moving — watching Peter approach with the casual arrogance of someone who used to know Ariella's body better than her schedule.
Ariella caught Jeremiah staring. Their eyes met across the space.
He looked away.
Fast.
A flicker of something passed through her chest — unfamiliar. Tight.
Peter stepped out, hands in his pockets. "Wow. This city's really small."
"Peter," she said, surprised but steady.
"You look... incredible," he said, glancing toward the racing scene. "Wasn't expecting to see you somewhere like this. Thought you hated the smell of testosterone."
She gave a small shrug. "I wasn't here for long."
He followed her gaze toward the fading roar of Jeremiah's engine disappearing into the dark.
Then said — casually but with venom —
> "So that's your new business partner? The one they forced you to work with?"
She didn't answer.
Peter gave a dry chuckle. "Figures. The Kings always did love putting on a show. Fast cars, fast headlines, no real substance."
"Peter—"
"I'm just saying. You deserve better. We both know what that kind of man becomes when the cameras are off."
Ariella stared at him. Cold. Tired.
He softened. "Look... can we get dinner? Just to talk? I've been meaning to fix things. To apologize. Properly this time."
She didn't reply right away.
Didn't say yes. Didn't say no.
But in her mind, all she could see was Jeremiah — behind the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes hungry for the road.
Not a man trying to impress anyone.
Just a man running from something.
And maybe... she understood that more than she wanted to admit.