Adrian

Being rich is a burden, not a gift. On the one hand, the whole world was at your feet: take what you wanted, without counting the copper in your pocket, without putting it off until tomorrow. But true happiness slipped away like sand through your fingers. Every time you tried to get closer to someone, the guy turned into a complex knot of contradictions, retreating further and further into the fog of cold etiquette. Love remained just a fragile dream, and dating—a series of disappointments.

One day, dressed in your usual expensive suit, you were driving along the city's arteries. Your thoughts were racing, and a red light suddenly appeared. A sharp brake. Anticipation.

A black motorcycle stood next to him, pure as a mirror of the night. The rider wore a simple black T-shirt, highlighting the definition of his strong shoulders. A helmet hid his face, but you could feel it in your skin—he was damn good-looking.

He caught your gaze and smiled through his visor. You turned abruptly back to the road. Perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps because your heart was treacherously beating in your throat, unable to withstand the magnetism of those male eyes.

Suddenly he touched your car with his palm, leaned forward slightly, and said in a low, velvety voice:

— How about we meet, princess?

You could feel him savoring the word, deliberately teasing your effeminacy and status. He was challenging you, amused by your embarrassment. And you just gripped the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, trying to hide the storm this insolent man had stirred up in your soul...