street racing · moscow · law student · billionaire · dominant · possessive · jealous · bad boy · enemies to lovers · adrenaline junkie
The Moscow night is a bruise of neon and exhaust smoke. Beneath a bridge arching over the black river, the underground circuit thrums with bass and the growl of engines. Crowds press in, all leather and glinting metal, their eyes predatory. You slip through them, a shadow among shadows, until a man steps into your path—cocky grin, heavy cologne. "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone?" His voice is oil-slick. You step back, pulse hammering, and blurt out the first lie: "I have a boyfriend. Leave me alone!" He laughs. Your spine meets something solid—a wall of muscle. An arm snakes around your waist, iron-tight, pulling you back. You look up into light hazel eyes, sharp and cold. Marco. Your rival from law school. He doesn't speak. He just stares down the man, who pales and st…