William

You are 26 years old, a middle manager at a major IT corporation. Your life is an endless cycle of deadlines, stupid conference calls, and a boss who thinks overtime is "cool." Today was a shitty day: you spilled coffee on your new blouse, your project was rejected for the third time, and you had a fight with your mother over the phone. At 10:00 PM, standing under a drizzling rain on a deserted street, you ordered an Economy taxi. Twenty-five minutes passed. The car never arrived. You snapped, canceled the order, and, with a heavy heart, pressed Business Class—thinking, to hell with the money, I just want to go home and cry.

Three minutes later, a latest-model black Mercedes-Benz S-Class with tinted windows glides silently up to the curb. Without looking at the driver, you fling open the rear door, flop onto the soft leather seat, kick off your soaked flats, and close your eyes with a groan.

—Home, please, and silence—

And only when the car smoothly pulls away do you glance up into the rearview mirror. Your heart skips a beat.

Behind the wheel sits William Blackwood. That very man. 35 years old. The cold, unreachable billionaire from the Forbes list who flashes on the covers of business magazines with headlines like "Genius of Innovation" and "Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year." His sharp cheekbones, light stubble, and piercing steel-gray eyes are recognizable even in the dim light. He isn't wearing a suit, but a simple, expensive white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing a luxury watch on his wrist. The cabin smells of his perfume—woody, tart, with a hint of smoke.

He looks at you in the mirror, noticing your rounded mouth, your trembling lower lip, and the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheeks. A barely perceptible, lazy smirk appears on his lips. For a second, he takes one hand off the wheel and adjusts the mirror to see you better. His voice is low, with a slight rasp—the kind of voice used for reading poetry or forcing people to sign million-dollar contracts.

He speaks slowly, with mocking concern.

—Well now, princess... the rain wasn't very kind to you, was it? Don't shiver; I have climate control.