"What the fuck! Is this person blind or what?!" Dave barked, slamming his car door shut. His heart sank when he saw it—a fresh scratch on his brand-new Ferrari.
Rage surged through him as the other driver didn't even bother stepping out to look. "Unbelievable," he hissed, storming over and rapping sharply against the tinted window.
The door opened.
A man emerged from the sleek Lamborghini Huracán, the overhead light catching on his sharp features. Dressed in tailored precision, his aura screamed power and danger. Even in silence, he exuded an unsettling magnetism, a dark charisma that clung to him like a shadow.
Dave's breath hitched. He's… breathtaking. He hated to admit it, but no one had ever made him feel like this—like his lungs forgot their job.
The stranger rose to his full height, looming over Dave. And then he spoke.
"Move your car. You're in my way."
The voice—deep, calm, edged with quiet menace—sent a shiver crawling down Dave's spine. It wasn't loud, but it carried weight, the kind of tone that warned you a storm could break at any moment.
Dave's disbelief turned to scorn. "Wait. Was that directed at me?"
"If not you, then who else?" the man replied, his words deliberate, his crimson gaze unwavering.
"You scratch my car, and that's all you've got to say?"
"It's just a scratch."
"A scratch?!" Dave's voice cracked with outrage.
"Yes, kid. Just move your car. You're blocking me."
Dave's jaw clenched. "You must've skipped your meds this morning, because something is clearly wrong with your brain."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, boy."
"No—you watch your tongue. You damage my car and think you can walk away like nothing happened? What kind of entitled—"
"Choose what you want to believe," the man cut in flatly.
Dave scoffed, dragging his words with venom. "You're insane. Straight out of an asylum."
"If you want to see your mother again in one piece, you'll let this go," the man warned, his calmness more terrifying than any shout.
Dave stepped closer, his face twisted with fury. "So now you're threatening me? You scratch my car, and instead of apologizing, you spit nonsense? You don't even deserve an apology from me—you're pathetic."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The man stared down at Dave with lifeless, unreadable eyes.
Dave glared right back. "People like you aren't even worth the spit on my shoes. You might look pretty, but you're empty inside—no manners, no class."
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the stranger's lips. "Maybe you could teach me. You seem to know a lot about running your mouth."
"I don't have time for trash like you," Dave snapped, turning away. "I'll let you off today because I have class, but next time—next time you won't be so lucky."
As he stormed back to his car, the man's mocking voice followed. "Aw, are you mad, baby boy? Don't cry when you get home."
"Fuck off, bastard! Pig!" Dave shot back, slamming his door. He revved the engine, tires screeching as he drove away, the man's amused smirk lingering in his mind.
The stranger chuckled darkly, sliding back into his Lamborghini. "Such a naughty boy. I'll have to deal with him properly."
---
By the time Dave reached school, his mood was in ruins. He parked with a scowl and stormed into class, already late.
"Mr. Walker, is everything alright?" the lecturer asked, noticing his grumpy expression.
"Yes, sir. All's well," Dave lied, plastering on a fake smile before slinking into his seat.
"Hey," Rihanna whispered, leaning over.
"Oh, hey. Morning," Dave greeted back quietly.
"You look upset. What happened?" she asked with concern.
"Mtch. Met the most unfortunate bastard this morning," he muttered.
Before he could say more, the lecturer's voice cut in sharply. "Mr. Walker. Miss Smith. Is something wrong?"
"Nothing, sir. Sorry," they chorused.
When the lecture finally ended, Rihanna and Dave headed to the canteen. Settling at a table, she leaned forward eagerly. "So? What happened?"
Dave exhaled heavily. "Some idiot scratched my car. And instead of saying sorry, he insulted me. Can you believe that?"
"Ugh. Typical. Some guys here seriously lack manners," Rihanna sighed.
Their conversation was suddenly drowned out by the squeals of students. A crowd gathered near the entrance, voices rising in excitement—especially the girls.
"Oh. My. Gosh. It's Kelvin!" Rihanna squealed, clutching her phone to snap pictures.
Dave winced at the noise. "Who the hell is that?" he asked, tugging at her sleeve.
"You're new, so you wouldn't know. That's Kelvin—the greatest of all," she said dreamily.
Dave nearly rolled his eyes.
"You're into him?" he asked, biting into his sandwich.
"Everyone in this school is into him," she replied without hesitation.
"Really? Is he a god or something?"
"He's more than a god, Dave. He's cute, smart, talented, sexy—he even won Mr. Fresher last year!" she gushed.
Dave sighed, clearly unimpressed. But when he finally turned his head and caught sight of Kelvin's face through the crowd, his sandwich froze halfway to his lips.
His stomach twisted in disgust.
It was him.
The bastard from this morning.