Stan took the stairs down to the garage, slid into the Huracán, and let the engine’s familiar growl settle into his bones before pulling out into the evening traffic.

The drive to Four Seasons Garden was short. The sun was hanging low, painting the western sky in layers of copper and violet, and the city’s lights were beginning to flicker on in scattered constellations across the skyline.

He spotted Sophie before he’d fully stopped the car.

She was standing outside the entrance to the Crown Jewel Tower, waiting for him with the particular posture of a woman who had spent considerable time getting ready and was quietly confident in the result. And she had every right to be.

The dress was a tight, glossy maroon halter-neck mini, the fabric catching the evening light with a subtle, liquid sheen that made every curve it clung to look deliberate.

Long matching sleeves ran to her wrists, balancing the exposed collarbone and shoulders. Black lace-top thigh-high stockings. Black heels that added three inches to her already considerable height.

She looked, Stan thought as she walked toward the car, like someone who had weaponized an outfit.

Sophie opened the passenger door, slid in, and immediately let her gaze travel over him, the leather jacket, the graphic tee, the chain, the dark jeans. Her lips curved.

"You seem very prepared for karaoke."

"Of course. You were looking forward to it, I couldn’t afford to disappoint my beautiful Sophie."

The compliment landed exactly where it was aimed. Sophie’s smile deepened, her cheeks warming by half a shade.

"I’m glad you take it seriously."

Stan turned the ignition but didn’t shift into gear. Instead, he glanced sideways at her with a look of mild expectation.

"No kiss today?"

Sophie’s eyes widened.

She’d been thinking about kissing him since the moment she’d woken up that morning. She’d thought about it while choosing the dress, while doing her makeup, while standing outside the tower watching his headlights approach. The desire had been running beneath every other thought like a quiet, persistent current.

And somehow, in the rush of seeing him, admiring his outfit, settling into the passenger seat, it had slipped her mind.

She let out a small, breathless laugh at her own absurdity, then leaned across the center console, placed one hand against his jaw, and kissed him.

Sophie’s soft, warm lips pressed against Stan’s with great hunger, parting slightly to invite him in.

She tasted faintly of sweet lip gloss and the lingering hint of mint from earlier, her breath warm and trembling against his skin.

Her hand cradled his jaw possessively, thumb gently stroking the stubble there as she tilted her head and deepened the kiss, her tongue slipping out to trace the seam of his lips before sliding inside to dance sensually with his.

Stan groaned softly into her mouth, one hand instinctively coming up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into her silky black hair.

The kiss grew hotter, wetter, tongues stroking and teasing in unhurried, luxurious strokes, lips sucking and nibbling gently. Sophie poured every ounce of her pent-up desire into it, the way she’d been fantasizing about his mouth all day, the memory of his taste, the need to feel claimed by him.

Their breaths mingled, growing heavier, more ragged. A tiny, needy whimper escaped her throat when Stan’s tongue curled around hers, sending sparks of heat straight down her spine and between her thighs.

The kiss felt intimate, filthy, and romantic all at once, slow, wet sounds of lips and tongues filling the quiet car, her body leaning further into him, breasts brushing against his chest over the console. Time seemed to slow as they devoured each other, lost in the taste, warmth, and hunger of the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Sophie was slightly breathless, her lipstick faintly smudged at the corner of her mouth, her eyes bright and half-lidded. A thin, glistening string of saliva briefly connected their lips before breaking.

"There," she whispered. "Better?"

"Much."

Stan put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

"So where’s this karaoke happening?"

"Neon Pulse. Steel Street."

"That’s a club, isn’t it?"

"It is." Sophie smiled. "They have private karaoke suites upstairs. Best sound system in the city."

She wound down the passenger window and let the evening air move through her hair as Stan drove at an unhurried pace through the city streets.

The breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere, a rooftop garden maybe, or a park they were passing, and Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over her.

’This is what happiness feels like,’ she thought. ’Sitting in a beautiful car with a man I’m in love with, on our way to something fun, with no Felix Lawn and no Vivian Reeves and no anonymous forum posts trying to ruin everything.’

’Just us.’

Steel Street was busy at this hour, the evening crowd was thickening, the neon signs were beginning to assert themselves against the fading daylight, and the bass from a half-dozen different venues bled into the street in overlapping waves.

Stan followed the signboard and pulled the Huracán to a smooth stop directly in front of Neon Pulse.

The club’s entrance was sleek and modern, dark glass, chrome accents, violet uplighting that made the building look like it was glowing from within.

A queue of well-dressed patrons snaked along the sidewalk, and a pair of bouncers flanked the main doors.

Stan was about to open his door when movement in his peripheral vision made him pause.

A man was approaching the car.

He was middle-aged, late forties maybe early fifties, wearing an expensive but slightly too flashy suit, the kind of outfit that announced ’I have money’ in capital letters.

His hair was slicked back with too much product. His watch was large and conspicuous. Behind him, arranged in a loose formation that was clearly meant to look casual but absolutely was not, stood half a dozen men in matching black suits.

Bodyguards. An entourage. The full performance.

The man leaned down to Sophie’s open window, positioned his body to block Stan from view, he at first glance thought it was Sophie’s driver she dressed well not to embarrass her, thinking that, he flashed Sophie a smile.

"Sophie Youngs." His voice was smooth, practiced, the voice of a man who had rehearsed this introduction. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Damien. You may know me better as the most prominent whale on TikTuk Live."

He paused for effect.

"I’m the one they call Master Streak. The gifts last night, the two hundred million, that was me. I did it because I’ve admired you for a long time."