The car was too quiet.
Too warm.
Too expensive.
Ayla sat stiffly beside Leon, her fingers tangled in her lap, unsure if she was supposed to thank him—or ask him what he wanted from her.
He didn't speak.
He just drove.
Smooth. Controlled. Like nothing in the world could touch him.
⸻
"Why me?" she finally asked, voice soft.
Leon didn't look at her. "What do you mean?"
"There are a dozen other girls at the club. Some prettier. Some flashier. You've never looked at any of them."
Silence.
Then—
"You didn't flinch when I looked at you."
Ayla blinked. "What?"
"That first night," he said, eyes still on the road. "You stared back. People don't do that."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know," he cut in. "That's why it mattered."
⸻
She didn't know how to respond.
So she looked out the window, watching the rain paint the city in streaks of gray and gold.
When the car finally stopped, she realized he'd driven her all the way home.
"You remembered where I live?" she asked, startled.
Leon looked at her then. Calm. Dangerous. Steady.
"I don't forget things that interest me."
⸻
She stepped out of the car slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered, not sure what for.
But before she could shut the door, he said something that made her heart stop.
"Next time someone follows you, Ayla… don't just walk faster."
Her hand froze on the door.
"I didn't tell anyone that happened."
"I know," Leon said. "But I saw."
And then the car pulled away.
Leaving her standing in the rain with one truth sinking in:
Being seen by Leon Moreno wasn't a gift.
It was a beginning.