The quiet hum of traffic blurred in the distance as a sleek black Rolls-Royce sat parked along the edge of a quiet New York street, its hood lifted like a wounded beast. The driver — a man in his late thirties — stood with sleeves rolled up, leaning over the engine with furrowed brows. Grease clung to his gloves, but the problem remained stubborn. The car refused to start.
A few feet away, another car pulled to a smooth stop. Chloe Carter stepped out, her heels tapping crisply against the concrete, the sun catching on the reflective surface of her sunglasses. Her figure was wrapped in a fitted blazer over a pearl silk blouse — casual, yet composed — with her ponytail bouncing lightly with every step.
Her eyes locked onto the Rolls-Royce with faint interest.
She approached without a word, the corner of her mouth twitching in curiosity. With a light tap of her manicured nail, she knocked on the tinted passenger-side window.
It rolled down smoothly with a quiet whirr.
Inside, a man sat — not just handsome, but striking. His jawline sharp, his undercut blond hair effortlessly styled, and his grey eyes calm, cold, and assessing. There was something composed about him — like someone who'd spent years learning how to control every expression.
For just a second, Chloe's breath paused.
Then, smoothly, she extended her hand.
"Hi. I'm Chloe."
He studied her hand for a second — not dismissively, just thoughtfully — before reaching out to shake it.
"Jake," he replied. His voice was low, velvet smooth, but there was something elusive behind it. A flicker of charm mixed with calculation.
Their hands touched — warm, poised, controlled.
Chloe felt it. Whatever it was.
But before she could speak again—
"Hi, guys!"
Chloe turned abruptly. Nadia had arrived, arms folded tightly, a thin smile on her lips. There was tension in her eyes — something that hadn't been there earlier.
Chloe released Jake's hand too quickly.
"Oh. Nadia," she said, clearing her throat, trying to rearrange her expression into casual indifference.
"I can have my driver help if you're stuck," Chloe offered to Jake, smoothing down her blazer, trying to recover from whatever ripple had just passed between them.
Jake smiled faintly. "That would be great, actually."
It wasn't just his words. It was the way he said them — measured, polite, like a man who never needed help but was skilled at pretending when it served him.
Chloe turned and marched back toward her own car.
"Michael!" she snapped.
Her driver jumped slightly, abandoning his phone.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"I want you to help that driver — now."
Michael blinked at the Rolls-Royce, then looked back at her nervously. "I… don't really know how to fix cars, ma'am."
She stopped walking. Slowly turned.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Michael stood straight. "I wasn't trained for mechanical—"
Chloe raised a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're a driver. But you can't fix a car."
"I can drive—"
"No, what you can't do is explain how you were hired. If it were my car stuck on the road, would you just stand there scratching your head?"
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it.
"I said go. Now."
He rushed to the trunk, grabbed the emergency tool kit, and jogged toward the other car, nearly tripping over himself.
Chloe sighed dramatically and turned back — only to find Jake watching her. This time,he was out of his car.
She felt her cheeks warm slightly and forced a smile.
"You run a tight ship," Jake said, amused.
Chloe smirked. "Someone has to."
Their eyes locked again for a second too long.
Then Nadia's voice broke the moment.
"Dammit," she whispered, pacing on the sidewalk, her phone pressed to her ear. "Why isn't this going through?"
She tried again. Same result. A voicemail prompt.
"Breathe, Nadia," Chloe said, moving closer. Her tone had shifted — quieter now, more sincere.
She reached out and hugged her friend gently.
"What's going on?"
"I just— I don't know. I can't reach him," Nadia said, her voice quivering as she fought to hold herself together.
Across from them, Jake stepped forward.
Without a word, he opened his car, reached into the back seat, and pulled out a sealed bottle of water.
"Here," he said, handing it to Nadia.
She blinked. "Thanks."
"Now breathe," Jake said. "In through your nose… out through your mouth. Match me."
He inhaled. She followed. He exhaled. She did the same.
Repeat.
It worked. The panic in her chest began to loosen. The heat in her face calmed.
"You're… good at this," she said, taking a slow sip of the water.
Jake shrugged. "My parents were doctors. I picked up a few things along the way."
Chloe looked him over again, this time with curiosity laced in respect.
"Well," she said, "I'd say you're wasted talent. You might've missed your calling."
Jake chuckled. "Maybe. But hospitals were never really my thing."
"So… what are you into, then?"
Jake was just about to answer when his driver appeared, wiping grease off his palms with a cloth.
"All set, sir. We're ready to go."
Jake nodded. "Thank you."
He turned to Chloe.
"Well, I guess this is it."
Chloe hesitated for a second. Then reached into her purse and pulled out a slim black card with embossed gold lettering.
"Take this," she said. "You've earned it."
Jake took it with a smile, then pulled one from the inner pocket of his blazer.
"Fair trade."
Their fingers brushed — just slightly — and neither one looked away right away.
Then Chloe stepped back, lips parted as if to say something more — but didn't.
She turned and walked to her car.
Jake got into his.
Nadia remained quiet in the backseat, still nursing the water, her eyes glancing between the two as if trying to make sense of something.
The two cars pulled away.
Two strangers.
Two cards exchanged.
One life unaware. The other fully informed. Fate didn't just cross their paths - it opened a door Jake had been waiting to walk through