They took the elevator down in comfortable silence and walked to where the Huracán was parked.

The matte-black finish caught the early morning light, and Sarah paused for a half-second as Stan opened the passenger door for her, the brief, involuntary hesitation of a woman who was still adjusting to the reality that the man opening her car door owned a vehicle worth more than most apartments. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

She settled into the passenger seat. The leather creaked softly. The interior smelled of new car, Sarah knew Stan must’ve spent a lot to buy this car.

Stan dropped into the driver’s side and pressed the ignition. The engine answered with its familiar, chest-deep rumble.

"Where’s the shop located?"

"Steel Street. It’s a boutique, a small one. You probably haven’t heard of it."

Stan pulled out of the lot and merged into the morning traffic. Steel Street was a route he knew well by now, the same district that housed the shopping center where the general manager had introduced himself as Stan’s subordinate just a few days ago.

A thought surfaced as he drove.

"Which company is the boutique under?"

"It’s a subsidiary of some larger group, I think. I’m not sure of the details, I just handle the storefront."

Stan said nothing, but a small, quiet click of recognition sounded in the back of his mind.

’Steel Street. Subsidiary huh?’

If the boutique was in that district, there was a very good chance it fell under the Wanhai Group’s commercial umbrella, which would make it, in the most technical and literal sense, his property.

He filed the information away without comment.

The drive was short, ten minutes through light traffic, the Lamborghini drawing stares at every red light it stopped at.

Sarah spent most of the ride with her hands folded in her lap, occasionally stealing glances at Stan’s profile, occasionally glancing at the dashboard display, occasionally pressing her lips together to suppress a smile that kept trying to surface.

They pulled up outside a modest but well-maintained storefront on the eastern end of Steel Street. The sign above the door was understated, clean lettering, tasteful design, the kind of branding that signaled quality without shouting about it.

"Here we are," Sarah said softly.

She gathered her bag, smoothed her jacket, and reached for the door handle.

"Thank you for driving me. You really didn’t have to."

"Sarah."

She paused, hand on the handle, and turned back to him.

Stan was looking at her with a small, knowing smile, the kind of smile that suggested she’d missed something obvious.

"You seem to be forgetting something."

Sarah blinked. Her brow furrowed slightly as she mentally retraced the past sixty seconds. Bag? She had it. Phone? In her pocket. Keys? In her bag. Work badge? Clipped to her.

Then it hit her.

The flush that spread across her cheeks was immediate, vivid, and absolutely devastating.

She looked at him and they locked gaze. The smile on his face hadn’t moved.

The car was very quiet. The engine idled with a low, patient rumble. The morning light was falling through the windshield at exactly the right angle to catch the soft curve of her jaw and red soft lips.

Sarah leaned across the center console, placed one hand lightly against his chest, and kissed him.

The kiss was pure fire. Sarah’s lips met his with eager hunger, mouths opening instantly. Stan’s tongue swept in deep, stroking hers in long, velvet strokes that made heat pool low in both their bodies.

He cradled the back of her neck, tilting her head for better access while his free hand roamed, squeezing her thigh, then sliding up to palm her breast again, lifting and kneading its lush weight as if memorizing every curve. The kiss turned wet and passionate, lips sliding, tongues caressing, soft moans vibrating between them.

Time seemed to slow as they lost themselves in the slick, heated rhythm, until they finally pulled back, gasping, lips shiny and breaths ragged.

"There," she whispered. "Happy now?"

"Very."

As she opened the door, Sarah gave him a playful wink, cheeks flushed. "Goodbye, Stan."

"Drive safe," she added softly as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, and walked toward the boutique entrance with the carefully measured stride of a woman trying very hard to look like she hadn’t just kissed a billionaire in a Lamborghini at eight-thirty in the morning.

She made it three steps before she glanced back over her shoulder.

Stan was still parked at the curb, still watching her, still wearing that small, infuriating, impossibly attractive smile. The taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

She waved once, small, quick, almost shy, and disappeared through the door.

Stan sat in the idling car for a moment longer, the ghost of her kiss still warm against his lips, and shook his head slowly.

’Don’t fall in love,’ the mantra whispered from somewhere deep in the back of his mind.

He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

The morning passed without incident, a small miracle by Stan Harrison’s recent standards.

He hit the gym early, running through a full-body circuit that confirmed what he’d suspected the night before: his strength was still climbing. The weights that had challenged him two days ago now moved with a fluidity that bordered on effortless. He didn’t question it this time. He simply noted it, adjusted his loads upward, and kept pushing until his muscles burned and his mind went quiet.

After showering at the gym, he drove to campus for a department lecture, one of the rare classes he still bothered attending. He slipped into the back row, took notes for forty minutes, and slipped out again without attracting a single hostile stare or whispered insult.

The atmosphere had shifted. Not dramatically, the forum posts were still up, Quinn’s lies were still circulating in the darker corners of the student body’s collective memory, but the edges had softened. The video from the hot pot restaurant was doing its work. Quinn Carter on his knees, sobbing, begging for mercy while Stan stood over him, that image was spreading faster than any anonymous forum post ever had.