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𝘈/𝘕: 𝘋𝘖𝘜𝘉𝘓𝘌 𝘜𝘗𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘌𝘌~! 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵!
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"𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑽𝑬,"𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑰𝑫, 𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕. His movements were effortless, fluid, as if the very air bent to accommodate his presence. That signature suave draped over him like a tailored suit, a second skin that made everything he did seem intentional—calculated, yet careless.
He slid into the passenger seat with an ease that spoke of absolute confidence, already settled before I could think to protest. But I didn't.
Instead, I bit my lower lip, anticipation curling in my stomach like a slow-burning flame.
The moment I slid into the driver's seat, I was enveloped in luxury—the kind that whispered power rather than shouted it. The interior of Valentino's Maserati Levante was a symphony of sleek black leather and polished chrome, every detail crafted with precision. The seats, stitched with fine Italian craftsmanship, molded against my body, cool against my skin yet promising warmth as the engine roared to life.
The dashboard was a masterpiece of cutting-edge technology, illuminated with soft, ambient lighting that cast an almost ethereal glow against the dark cabin. A scent lingered in the air—faintly musky, laced with the subtle spice of Valentino's cologne, clinging to the leather and the very essence of the car.
As my fingers curled around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, I felt the raw strength beneath my touch—the potential restrained, waiting to be unleashed. The ignition button pulsed softly, an invitation. With a press, the engine growled to life, deep and throaty, a sound that sent a thrill down my spine. It was power, untamed yet refined, purring beneath my fingertips.
Valentino lounged beside me in the passenger seat, exuding an effortless confidence that made my pulse race. He didn't need to command authority—it was something that naturally bled from him, like the car itself, sleek and dangerous, exuding an undeniable magnetism.
He leaned his head against his elbow, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet admiration behind the lenses of his glasses. The look he gave me was something unspoken, something deep and knowing, but I refused to let it fluster me. Instead, I focused on the power beneath my hands—the machine purring in anticipation, a beast waiting to be unleashed.
Gently, I rested my foot on the gas pedal, and the Maserati growled in response, a deep, throaty roar that vibrated through my bones. The engine's hum was intoxicating, a melody of raw power and precision. The dashboard flickered to life, digital displays casting a cold glow over my fingers as I adjusted the rearview mirror.
