ZOE DEAN'S POV
Emily and I had spent the whole afternoon together—playing card games, gossiping, laughing until my stomach hurt. For a while, it almost felt normal, like I was back home with Fredda. No fear, no awkwardness. Just… fun.
But by evening, she grew tired and decided to head back to her room. I walked her to the door, waved goodbye, and then the silence swallowed the suite. The only sound left was the low hum of the air conditioner.
The silence made the thoughts that had disappeared earlier with Emily resurface. I wondered where Nero was. Wasn't he returning tonight?
I sank onto the couch, already feeling bored. My phone was right there, so I picked it up and sent a quick message to Fredda.
Me: Hey girl.
Her reply came almost instantly.
Fredda: Zoe, you good?
I smiled, a little warmth filling my chest. At least someone was still looking out for me.
Me: I'm fine. You at work?
Fredda: Yes, I was about to text you. It isn't the same without you around.
My smile widened.
Me: I miss you too.
Fredda: You should return soon. Hope that mother fucker isn't oppressing you?
I bit my lip, staring at her words. I was about to type back when the doorbell rang.
My head shot up, and my brows drew together. Emily? Did she forget something?
I dropped my phone on the cushion and walked toward the door. My fingers curled around the handle, and when I pulled it open, my breath caught in my throat.
Nero.
He stood there in the dim hallway, a black leather jacket hugging his broad frame, dark pants completing the dangerous look. His eyes were fixed on me, sharp, unblinking, like they could strip away every defense I had left.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My pulse quickened, nervous heat rising to my face. He hadn't said a word, but his presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavy.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, smooth. "Want to go for a night drive?"
I blinked at him, unsure if I'd heard him right. A night drive? Now? But it's late.
"Now?" I repeated, my tone a mix of confusion and suspicion.
His eyes didn't waver. "You don't want to go?"
I swallowed, suddenly too aware of my outfit: just a jean short and a thin singlet. My arms folded across my chest almost instinctively. I want to go, but—"I'm not properly dressed."
His lips curved slightly as he glanced me over, the faintest hint of reassurance. "You're good."
Before I could argue, his hand wrapped around mine—warm, firm, leading. "Let's go."
My breath hitched at the sudden contact. He tugged me gently but insistently out into the hall. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing me into whatever this was.
We walked side by side through the quiet corridor, my mind racing, my heart beating too fast. Why a night drive, all of a sudden? What was his plan? Was he still angry? Did he forget about our argument?
Outside, the cool air brushed against my skin as he stopped in front of a sleek red Ferrari. Different from the last car. How many did he own?
Without a word, he opened the passenger door. "Get in."
My legs felt heavy, but I slid inside, the leather seat cold beneath my skin.
He rounded the hood, slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life. My fingers gripped my thighs, grounding myself as he pulled out of the lot.
His voice broke the silence, calm but direct. "Have you eaten dinner?"
The question caught me off guard. My throat tightened with the memory of our argument earlier. I lowered my gaze and answered quietly, "No."
He nodded once, eyes still on the road, then pressed harder on the accelerator. The car sped onto the highway, the world outside becoming a blur of lights.
I leaned slightly toward him, voice small. "Where are we going?"
His answer was simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "To eat dinner first, and then we race."
My brows arched, caught off guard. Race? Did he just say race?
"You race?" I asked, my voice a little higher than I intended.
He only shrugged, both hands steady on the wheel. "Just something I do for fun."
I blinked, studying the sharp lines of his profile as he focused on the road. Of course he does. Of course he would do something reckless like that. My heart gave a restless thump, though I wasn't sure if it was from surprise or something else.
The silence stretched, longer than I could bear. I shifted in my seat, fingers fidgeting against my thighs. Say something. Anything. My chest tightened, the memory of our argument earlier flashing through my mind.
"I was waiting for you," I said at last, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
His gaze flickered from the road to me, just a second, but it was enough to feel the weight of his eyes. My breath caught before he looked forward again.
"Why?" His voice was soft, curious.
My fingers tangled with each other as though they could hide the nervous energy running through me. "You misunderstood me earlier, so I… I wanted to apologize." The words came out small, almost fragile.
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then he leaned back slightly, his hands relaxed on the wheel. His tone was steady, almost careful. "I'm not upset with you." His eyes stayed on the road, but then he turned to me again, just briefly. "I just don't want you to…" He paused, like the words weighed too much. "…to think badly of me."
The sincerity in his voice made my stomach twist. I wasn't ready for that, for him to care what I thought. For all of this.
My breath hitched, and I looked at him, startled, only to find his gaze already back on the road. My chest felt tight, my palms damp. Why does it feel like this? Why does it feel like he just peeled something open inside me?
I turned away, staring out the window as the streetlights blurred by. My heart wouldn't calm down, no matter how much I told myself it was nothing.
And so I stayed quiet. Not because I didn't want to speak, but because I didn't trust what might come out if I did.
***
Nero killed the engine, and the car quieted in front of a rusted gate. The metal looked tired, the hinges swollen with age and weather. The kind of gate that would groan and complain if someone forced it open.
But it wasn't the gate that held my attention.
It was the people.
Clusters of men and women lingered on either side, some slipping past the guards at the entrance after an exchange of money or a handshake. They looked rough around the edges—tattoos curling up their arms, cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the dark. Leather jackets, ripped jeans, tank tops… none of them dressed like they were here for a polite night out. They were here for something else, something dangerous.
I shifted in my seat, my fingers tightening around my knees. "This is where you race?" I asked, my voice barely above the hum still ringing in my ears.
He glanced at me, and his eyes softened. "Yes, baby."
The word made my chest tighten. My breath hitched, a reminder of who I was sitting next to. Of the world I was being pulled into, whether I was ready or not.
Heads began to turn in our direction as the car idled at the gate. Some faces looked curious, others assessing, a few smirked like they already knew us, or... him.
A girl in cutoff shorts leaned lazily against a guy's shoulder, chewing gum as though the night was boring her. Her boots scraped the dirt as she shifted her weight, arms folded tight. The guy with her pulled his hood lower, but not enough to hide the sly grin he tossed our way. It crawled under my skin, sharp and uninvited.
The air itself seemed to buzz, charged with something restless, almost electric. My heart thudded against my ribs, each beat louder than the last. So this is it. This is where he races.
"You ready?" His voice pulled me back. He was watching me now, and there was something in his gaze that unsettled me—steady, unreadable, like he was measuring how far I'd go with him.
I sank back into my seat, eyes widening. "If I say no…" I hesitated, searching his face. "Will we go back?"
For a second, silence. Then the corner of his mouth curved. "I thought you weren't scared."
The teasing in his voice made my stomach flip. I turned to him, caught his smirk, and felt my pride bristle. Oh no. Not tonight.
I forced a smirk of my own, though my palms were damp. "I'm not scared. Let's do this."
His laugh was low, deep, as if the answer pleased him. He shook his head with a small smile before pushing open his door.
I watched him step out, tall and commanding, the night bending a little around his presence. Then, to my surprise, he circled the car and pulled open my door.
For a moment, I hesitated, staring at his outstretched hand. My pulse was still racing, my mind still spinning. But then I slipped my hand into his, letting him pull me into his world.