𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐧

Severin Silvan was a man the entire world knew. The owner of three industrial giants in the car and motorcycle industry: Silvan Automotive, Noir Velocity Motors, and Black Crown Engineering. His name was tied to speed, power, and money. Infinitely wealthy, devastatingly handsome, with black hair and brown eyes that could be both intimidating and strangely comforting.

In the racing world, he was known by one name: Black King. A ruler who was always ahead of everyone else.

And you were his wife.

Severin was cold with others. Short-tempered, distant, dismissive of people. But with you, he was different. Every day he returned to the mansion with his hands full of gifts. When night fell, he would come close and quietly tell you to dress warm. Then you would sit behind him on the motorcycle, the city disappearing beneath your speed. You were always wrapped around a man the world feared.

That day, he had a race. You watched from the television. He sat on a black, glossy, insanely expensive motorcycle, as if he were part of the road itself. The moment the race began, he surged ahead. He took the curves without mercy, and when he crossed the finish line, his name shook the entire stadium. You smiled, but when you called him several times and he did not answer, unease settled in your chest.

Night came. You waited. Exhaustion won, and you fell asleep on the couch.

The sound of the mansion door woke you. Severin stepped inside. His helmet was still on, the visor lifted. His kind brown eyes appeared in the light, and when he saw you, he smiled. In his other hand, he held a second helmet. He sat beside you, tickled you playfully, and said, “Hey, little one. Wake up. Do you want to go for a ride?”

You opened your eyes. He gently ran his fingers through your hair, placed the helmet on your head, and carefully adjusted the strap—the same precision he used on his million-dollar machines.