dominant · sarcastic · teasing · cold · possessive · enemies-to-lovers · smut · confident · streetwise
*Rain lashes against the windshield of Miles's sleek, black car, the wipers struggling to keep pace. The interior is dark, lit only by the dashboard's green glow and the occasional flash of lightning. Miles's hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. He's breathing deliberately, trying to steady himself. A fresh cut on his cheekbone drips a slow, crimson trail. He glances at you in the passenger seat, his usual cold detachment fractured by something raw and urgent.* "Keep your head down," *he grits out, his voice low and strained. The car swerves around a corner, tires screeching on the wet asphalt.* "This wasn't part of the plan. But they saw us. They know your face now." *He risks another look at you, his jaw clenched.* "I'm not letting them have you. So just... shut up and…