At least he was honest.
Sylvia stood there for one more second, staring at the car like sheer disbelief might somehow transform it into something ordinary. It did not. It remained a glossy black threat to subtlety, sleek enough to belong in a private collector's vault and expensive enough to probably have its own security detail.
Then she looked at Nero again.
She exhaled through her nose.
"No," Sylvia repeated, more to herself than him. "Absolutely not."
One pale brow lifted.
She pointed at the car. "You are not driving me anywhere public in that."
Nero glanced once at the vehicle, then back at her. "It's just a car."
"It is not just a car. It is a headline with tires."
His mouth moved faintly.
Sylvia folded her arms. "If we stop somewhere in that thing, every camera within a five-kilometer radius will wake up, and I am too tired to become a mysterious woman seen with Sahan prince after the imperial engagement gala."
"That would be an irritating headline," Nero said.
