Inside the black Land Cruiser 300, Timothy scanned the interior of the vehicle. It smelled brand-new, that unmistakable mix of leather and factory polish clinging to every corner.
The dashboard gleamed with glossy panels, the infotainment screen larger than any tablet he had owned. Ambient lights traced faint lines along the doors, glowing a soft white. The silence of the cabin struck him most—the way the outside noise was almost completely muted once the doors shut, like the world beyond had been sealed away.
Timothy leaned back into the seat, still in disbelief. He had driven secondhand SUVs, pickup trucks that rattled when the engine revved, even a Ford Raptor that had plenty of muscle but showed its age. But this, this was something else entirely. The Land Cruiser didn't just feel like a vehicle. It felt like a statement.
"This is… insane," he muttered, running a hand over the stitching on the armrest. "It feels like sitting inside a private jet."
