Zavian's POV

A smirk tugged at my lips as I read the first message Iman had finally sent me. Took her long enough.

She was annoyed. Oh, she was annoyed.

Mashal-e-Mehtaab. The name fit her, whether she liked it or not.

I ran a thumb over my lower lip, leaning against my McLaren Speedtail as the neon lights from the underground garage flickered above. The scent of burning rubber and gasoline filled the air, mixed with the distant roar of engines and reckless laughter.

Perfect.

Just as I was about to type another message, a familiar, grating voice pierced through the noise.

"Zavy, who's got you smiling like that?"

I didn't bother looking up. I already knew who it was. Siera.

I exhaled through my nose, jaw clenching as she strutted closer—shorts, an oversized shirt, and that ever-present cocky smirk like she owned the place. No one could look at her and guess if she was Pakistani or some American-born brat with too much money and too little sense.

"Not your business," I muttered, flipping my phone in my hand.

Siera, who never took a damn hint, peered over my shoulder anyway.

"Mashal-e-Mehtaab?" she read out loud, slow and dramatic, like she was tasting the words. Her brows shot up before she turned to me with a knowing look. "Seriously?"

I rolled my eyes. "Did I stutter?"

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like I'd disappointed her. "Didn't think you were the poetic type, Zavy."

I leveled her with a deadpan stare. "And I didn't think you were the literate type. Guess we're both full of surprises."

Her grin widened. Annoying.

"Whatever," she drawled, crossing her arms. "But you? Getting all soft for some girl? What's next? Roses? Love letters?" She laughed, nudging my arm. "Damn, she must be something special."

I didn't answer.

Because she was.

And that was exactly the problem.

I folded my arms across my chest, my gaze flicking toward the idiots pulling off some half-baked car stunt in the distance. A screech of tires. A burst of laughter. A pathetic attempt to impress.

I rolled my eyes.

"Jealous much?" I drawled, letting my smirk return just to piss her off.

Siera scoffed, but I caught the flicker of irritation in her sharp brown eyes before she masked it with that smug, overconfident tilt of her chin. She thought too highly of herself—always did. And for some reason, she thought she was entitled to me.

"Jealous?" she repeated, stepping closer. "Of who, exactly?"

I didn't move back. Didn't react. Just let my gaze drop to hers with a slow, measured blink, like she wasn't worth the energy it took to hold a conversation.

Her fingers trailed over my forearm, nails grazing my skin deliberately. Touchy as ever.

"You think I care about some—" she glanced at my phone again, nose scrunching, "—Mashal-e-Mehtaab? Please, Zavy. I know you. You don't do love stories."

I exhaled through my nose, slow. Annoyed.

"I don't do a lot of things." My voice was cold, clipped. "But here you are. Still talking."

Her smirk twitched. She hated when I didn't react, but she was too damn stubborn to admit it.

She moved closer, enough that I could smell her overpriced vanilla perfume. "I just don't get why you'd waste your time on some—"

"Careful," I cut in, voice sharp.

A warning.

Her eyes flickered, her confidence wavering for half a second before she masked it again. "I'm just saying," she went on, unfazed but clearly fuming, "you and I? We work. We come from the same world. She's not like us."

I tilted my head. "Yeah? And you think you are?"

Siera's jaw clenched. A direct hit.

I pushed off the car, shoving my phone in my pocket. "You're right about one thing, though." I stepped past her, my tone dropping. "I don't do love stories."

I paused just long enough to throw one last glance over my shoulder, eyes blank, voice dry.

"But maybe she'll be the exception."

I didn't stay to see her reaction. Didn't have to.

I already knew.

_

I strolled over to Darek, my steps slow, deliberate. No words needed. He took one look at me and tossed the keys without hesitation.

I caught them midair, smirking as I ran my thumb over the sleek metal. The engine of his Mustang growled behind me, waiting—just like everyone else.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I flicked my gaze to Darek. "Buckle up."

His grin mirrored mine. He knew what was coming.

The moment my fingers wrapped around the wheel, everything else faded—the noise, the crowd, Siera's annoying presence.

All that mattered now?

It was showtime.

I revved the engine, the guttural roar slicing through the thick air of burnt rubber and adrenaline. The street ahead was lined with flashing headlights, a sea of spectators waiting for the thrill—the recklessness, the rush.

Darek let out a low chuckle beside me, cracking his knuckles. "Think you still got it, Zavy?"

I shot him a look. Cold. Amused. "Tch. You breathing right now?"

He whistled. "Damn."

I rolled my neck, fingers flexing against the wheel. The guy in the next car, some cocky rich brat who thought money made him fast, revved his own engine. I didn't even glance his way. Waste of my time.

The flag girl strutted forward, hips swaying, a smirk on her lips as she raised the checkered flag. The countdown started, voices shouting, the tension thick.

5...

I exhaled, steady, controlled.

4...

My grip tightened.

3...

Siera leaned against a car nearby, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. Annoyed. Jealous. Good.

2...

Darek grinned. "Let's ruin some egos tonight."

1...

The flag dropped.

And I hit the gas.

The tires screamed against the asphalt as I launched forward, the sheer force pressing me back against the seat. The roar of the engine was a beast unleashed, drowning out the world.

The other guy thought he had a chance—poor idiot. His car shot forward too, but I didn't even flinch. He was gripping his wheel like his life depended on it. I, on the other hand, drove with one hand, the other tapping lazily against my thigh.

Darek laughed beside me, the wind whipping through the open window. "Man, you don't even try."

"Should I?" I smirked, glancing at the guy in my rearview mirror. He was already struggling. A joke.

I swerved past a sharp turn without effort, while he almost lost control. Tch. Amateur.

Siera was probably watching with her arms crossed, her ego bruised worse than the guy losing to me right now. She always thought she had some claim over me—some delusion that she could stand next to me. Too bad she was just like the rest. Annoying. Predictable. Touchy.

"Zavy!" Darek snapped, but I'd already seen it—a truck up ahead, a split-second decision.

I smirked, gripping the wheel with both hands now. "Hold on."

And then, like slicing through the wind, I drifted past it, tires skimming dangerously close, a perfect, precise cut between lanes. The guy behind me? Not so lucky. He slammed his brakes too late, and by the time he corrected his path, I was already at the finish line.

The crowd erupted. Cheers. Screams. Horns blaring.

I leaned back, stretching my arms out before flicking the engine off. Darek was laughing, shaking his head.

"Effortless, man. You're a damn legend."

I simply pushed the car door open, stepping out into the chaos. My eyes flickered to Siera, standing there with that smug little tilt to her lips like she wasn't seething inside.

I ran a hand through my hair, smirking as I walked past her. "Jealousy's a bad look on you."

She scoffed. "You're so full of yourself."

I turned slightly, giving her a lazy once-over. "Took you this long to figure that out?"

And with that, I walked off, hands in my pockets.

The adrenaline still thrummed in my veins, but I barely acknowledged it as I strode past the sea of people. The scent of burning rubber and gasoline clung to the air, mixing with the scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke.

A few guys clapped me on the back as I passed, muttering words like insane and legendary, but I didn't slow down. Darek jogged up beside me, grinning like a madman.

"Man, I swear you've got ice in your veins," he said, shaking his head. "No hesitation, no fear. It's like you knew that truck would move just enough for you to slip through."

I exhaled a short laugh. "That's the difference between me and them. I don't hesitate."

Darek whistled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well, one of these days, that attitude's gonna bite you in the ass."

"Doubt it."

He only chuckled, used to my answers by now.

As we reached my McLaren, I pulled my phone out of my jacket. A few missed messages. One from my old man—ignored. A couple from some girl whose name I barely remembered—deleted. And then her.

Mashal-e-Mehtaab

My smirk returned as I leaned against my car, tapping on the message.

Iman: You are SO annoying. Just tell me what it means and stop being dramatic.

I chuckled under my breath, running a hand through my hair. Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how dramatic I can be.

I typed back, deliberately slow.

Me: Wouldn't you like to know?

I barely had time to lock my phone before Darek whistled low. "So that's who's got your attention tonight. Thought you didn't do the whole texting thing."

"I don't," I replied, pushing off the car and slipping into the driver's seat.

Darek climbed into the passenger side, eyes still full of amusement. "And yet, here you are, being cryptic as hell over a girl."

I started the car, the engine purring to life. "She's not just a girl."

He raised a brow. "No?"

I exhaled, gripping the wheel. "No."

She was Iman. And she had no idea what she'd gotten herself into.