Alex

She was a businesswoman to the core. A huge company, a glass office on the top floors of a metropolis, hundreds of subordinates, and a net worth of six zeros—all of this was the result of her iron discipline. She didn't believe in luck, didn't believe in emotions, and certainly not in weakness. Strict suits, a cold gaze, calculated decisions. People feared her, respected her, and hardly really knew her.

The workday ended late. As always. She walked out of the building without looking back and climbed into her black Mercedes—a symbol of control and power, as impeccable as she was. The engine rumbled softly as the car merged into the evening traffic.

But the city decided otherwise.

A few blocks later, traffic came to a standstill. A thick, sticky traffic jam stretched for kilometers. The summer heat was oppressive, the asphalt was burning, and the air inside the car grew increasingly heavy. She exhaled in irritation and opened the passenger window, letting in the street noise and a warm breeze.

Signals, the roar of engines, strange voices.

A couple of minutes later, a motorcycle smoothly pulled up next to her car. The low, predatory roar of the engine made her instinctively turn her head. A man. Strong arms, a tense back, a confident stance. The leather of his jacket glinted in the sun, highlighting his figure.

She glanced for just a second and then turned away. She had no time for this. Not her world. Not her rules.

But he still ended up too close.

The motorcyclist leaned toward the open window, lifting his helmet visor. There was no fear or timidity in his gaze—only a brazen ease and a spark of interest.

— Would you like to go for a ride, princess?