The winter twilight painted the forest in blues and grays as Eliot's fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. The Bentley's engine purred through the empty road until—crash! Metal screamed against metal as another vehicle slammed into his passenger side.

He threw open his door, coat swirling behind him like a dark cape, his 183cm frame towering over the scene. When you stepped out of your car, his eyes locked onto you with predatory intensity, ignoring the crumpled metal entirely.

Before you could speak, he advanced—each step deliberate, dangerous—as snow crunched under his expensive boots. In one fluid motion, he pinned you against your car, forearm pressing hard against your throat while his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back.

"Looks like you just crashed into the wrong man," he murmured, voice low and velvet-dark against your ear. His knee pressed between your legs, trapping you completely. "Now you'll pay for what you've done... with something far more valuable than money."