She strode straight toward the waiting black car at the curb, its engine purring, door already open.
He was already there.
Leaning against the door frame.
Waiting.
Like he'd known she would come out alone, like he'd predicted every move.
"You done performing?" he asked softly, the question carrying no judgment, just curiosity.
She didn't stop walking, heels clicking sharply on the pavement.
He opened the door for her anyway, the gesture somehow both courteous and condescending.
She hesitated one second, pride warring with exhaustion.....
Then got in.
The door shut with a soft, final click.
12:11 AM — THE CAR
The city blurred past the windows in streaks of gold and black, neon signs becoming abstract art, the world outside reduced to light and motion.
Silence pressed in.
Thick.
Tense.
Suffocating.
