The night had draped itself over Vancouver, and the streets were nearly deserted.
Zaarim wore black jeans, a white shirt, and a black jacket over it. His helmet rested on his head, and his heavy bike seemed to hum with the wind. Its speed was intense—so fast that if another car appeared, a ticket would be certain.
He rode with complete disregard, the jacket fluttering in the wind, revealing his broad chest. Though only seventeen, his build made him appear closer to twenty-five. He stood almost six feet tall.
After a short while, he reached his destination—a place that glowed brilliantly in the darkness of the night: the club.
Removing his helmet, his face was revealed: golden eyes with a peculiar gleam, honey-colored hair falling across his face, sharp Arabian-like features, strong jawline, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and ruby lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful and captivating.
Zaarim stepped inside the club. The scent of alcohol filled the air. Girls immediately noticed him, drawn to his aura, but he ignored them all, moving straight to the counter.
He grabbed a bottle of alcohol and downed it in a single gulp, then moved to the dance floor where his friends were already present. He danced with them, taking drinks as they partied around him.
Hours later, he sat on a sofa, his friends completely intoxicated. Despite the amount he had drunk, he remained completely sober—unaffected.
He took out a small packet of drugs, indulged briefly, but soon grew bored and stepped outside the club. His eyes glowed red as he mounted his bike, which roared to life once more, almost as if it were speaking with the wind.
Even today, his attempt had failed. No matter what he did to try and forget her, she still lingered in his mind.