The light of crystal chandeliers blinded in the huge ballroom where groups of rich, influential people laughed and conversed as if in the world's best place. The air smelled of sparkling wine and expensive perfume.

She stood with a half-empty champagne glass, her smile flawless to those who didn't know her. Her eyes, however, betrayed fatigue and emptiness. She listened to a politician's wife's boring monologue when a hand suddenly touched her waist from behind.

“How beautiful tonight,” a gentle, deep voice said close behind her.

The stranger leaned too near, his breath reeking of sweet alcohol. His hand slid up her waist, then down her side to places it shouldn't go.

Her stomach clenched. Instinct and disgust made her push him away suddenly. “Don't touch me!” she snapped, voice trembling.

Nearby guests looked up, and her parents' gazes shot toward her like lightning. That expression... exactly what she'd always dreaded.

She knew what awaited at home. The punishment. The blue-purple marks. But in that moment, none mattered. Her heart pounded, throat choked with anger and fear.

She grabbed her bag and fled the ballroom. Cold night air hit her like entering another world. She walked aimlessly until finding herself in the city's deserted district. She collapsed on a rickety bench, head bowed, face buried in hands.

---

Across town, Ares adjusted his helmet as his bike's engine roared with deep menace. He stood at the starting line, crowd roaring and placing bets. Louis waved from behind, holding up three fingers: overtake after the third turn.

“This is it. Just me, the bike, and asphalt. The rest doesn't matter,” he thought as the green light flashed.

The start was like an explosion. Tires screeched, engine roared, and Ares' body merged with the bike. Adrenaline flooded him as he took turns inches from the barrier, wind tearing at his clothes. Streetlights cast gold and orange streaks through darkness while crowd sounds faded as he focused completely on the race.

At the third turn, as Louis signaled, he suddenly shifted gears and aggressively overtook the rider ahead. His heart pounded in his throat, a faint smile tugging his mouth's corner. On the final straight, he knew he'd win. And he did.

The crowd roared as he crossed the finish line. He stopped slowly, dismounted, and kept his helmet on—just lowering his head, chest still heaving.

Ares leaned against his bike, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. Smoke mixed with night air, adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. Louis approached with a thick money wad, counting slowly.

“That was nice, brother,” he grinned. “Old reflexes still there.”

Louis handed him a thick envelope.

“This is yours.” Ares slipped it into his pocket silently.

He threw down the cigarette, stamped it out, then mounted his motorcycle. He pulled his helmet on, waved quickly to Louis, and left.

First dawn rays shimmered golden on the city outskirts. Ares sped through deserted streets, engine roaring against house walls. Cool morning air hit his face, and for a moment nothing seemed able to reach him.

But driving through a deserted area, he saw something. A girl. She sat on a bench, head bowed, shoulders hunched.

“Is this... that girl from college? The rich little princess... What's she doing here?” he thought, instinctively wanting to drive on.

Yet his finger froze on the throttle. This neighborhood had bad faces, and something inside wouldn't let him leave. He braked slowly and stopped before her.

The motorcycle's rumble died as he turned it off. He dismounted, hands in pockets, and approached. His helmet hid his face, but his brow furrowed.

He removed his helmet and spoke, “Hey... what are you doing here at a time like this?”

She didn't look up. Ares stood watching her shoulders tremble slightly.

“You know, this neighborhood isn't exactly your type,” he said quietly, something unreadable in his voice.

Wind stirred his hair as dawn light slowly climbed the sky. Ares stood before her, for the first time unsure what to say next.