The blue cab, plate A2219, hummed quietly outside the Marriott International skyscraper, a towering beacon in the heart of B City. Monique Xander smiled faintly, her gentle voice like a silver bell as she spoke into her phone.

"Hello, this is your Stormchase driver. My car is blue and my car plate number is A2219. I am already at the Marriott Tower so you can come down now."

A deep, magnetic voice, cold enough to send a shiver down her spine, responded, "Alright."

Monique glanced at Little Nomi, her five-year-old daughter, peacefully asleep in the passenger seat, oblivious to the chill that had just swept through the car. Her heart warmed instantly at the sight of Nomi's apple-red cheeks and cherry-like pout. Adjusting the blanket, Monique leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

Minutes later, a man of imposing stature emerged from the skyscraper, his dark suit impeccable, his presence commanding. He walked swiftly towards her car, his shadow long in the twilight.

Monique hurried out, bowing slightly as she opened the door for him. As he drew closer, his exquisitely handsome face became clear – sharp features, a prominent nose, thin, chiseled lips, and eyes like a cold, sharp eagle. He exuded an aura of formidable royalty.

"Hurry," Henry Moore's voice cut through the air, emotionless, his arrogance palpable. The coldness was immediate, like an invisible air conditioner set to its lowest. Monique forced a smile, shaking her head. Why is the weather turning cold all of a sudden?

She swiftly started the engine, pulling away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, she saw him settle into the backseat, his eyes closed. He has an alluring voice, I could get pregnant just from listening to him. The thought, fleeting and absurd, brought a faint blush to her cheeks.

Little Nomi stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips, as the gentle strains of Bandari's Snowdream filled the cab.