Rain and Reckoning
Manhattan glittered under the night sky, its neon lights bleeding into the relentless spring rain.
A black sedan sped through rain-slicked streets, wipers battling the downpour while the windows fogged with heavy breaths and the wet sounds of tangled lips.
In the back seat, a man and woman kissed hungrily, clothes disheveled, soft moans spilling into the air.
“Ethan, slow down~” the woman giggled breathlessly. “Your fiancée is right there in the front.”
The man shot a dismissive glance toward the driver’s seat, voice dripping with contempt. “Baby, ignore her.”
In the rearview mirror, a pair of cool, detached eyes reflected back.
Elena Brooks kept both hands steady on the wheel, watching everything unfold behind her through the mirror. Her delicate features remained impassive, as if she were observing strangers.
The couple going at it right in front of her? Her fiancé, Ethan Cole, and her own cousin—her so-called “good” cousin.
And right now, Elena’s role had apparently been reduced to chauffeur.
A chauffeur’s job: deliver the horny pair to their hotel and let them finish what they started.
Elena tore her gaze away, lifting it slightly to the massive LED screen towering over Midtown, currently cycling through the latest financial headlines.
The moment she caught sight of the news, her focus wavered.
The car swerved violently toward oncoming traffic.
BAM—!
In a flash of sparks and screeching tires, both vehicles slammed to an emergency stop.
The couple in the back yelped as their teeth clashed painfully from the impact.
Ethan shoved the woman off him, furious. “Elena! What the f**k—are you trying to kill us?”
Elena gripped the wheel tighter, squinting against blinding headlights as she straightened.
The front end of the other car—a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom—was crumpled, its iconic Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament still gleaming defiantly under the streetlights.
Ethan realized the magnitude of the mess and exploded. “s**t! You’re done, Elena. You’re f*****g done!”
Elena slowly sat upright, pushed open the door with effort, and stepped out into the rain.
She steadied herself against the car, legs shaky. Just a few yards away, the Rolls-Royce door opened with deliberate grace.
Polished leather oxfords hit the wet pavement first.
Then tailored trousers, an immaculate bespoke suit, tie, pocket square—every detail screaming old money refined in London.
Under the slanting rain and amber streetlights, a tall man emerged. His suit was pressed to perfection; droplets beaded on broad shoulders and dark hair, catching the light like mist.
He casually opened a large black umbrella, his imposing figure moving toward her with effortless aristocratic poise.
As he drew closer, the face obscured by rain and shadow sharpened into heartbreaking familiarity.
Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, straight nose—those narrow, icy phoenix eyes that once looked at her like she was the only thing in the world.
A gloved hand gripped the umbrella handle; on his pale wrist, a thin red cord was tied—simple, almost boyish against the otherwise ruthless sophistication.
Refined, yet dangerous.
The oppressive weight of his presence hit her like a wave.
Elena froze.
The man who’d been on that financial news segment seconds ago was now standing right in front of her.
British international finance titan. Scion of a legendary New York scientific dynasty.
Lucas Bennett.
Her ex-boyfriend.
Ethan stood frozen, lipstick smeared on his mouth, eyes wide.
“Uncle Lucas? You’re… you’re back?”
Elena’s lashes trembled at the word Uncle.
Ethan hurried over, plastering on a smile. “Uncle Lucas! You didn’t tell anyone you were coming back to New York—I would’ve picked you up from the airport! Total misunderstanding here.”
He gestured vaguely at Elena. “This is my fiancée, Elena Brooks. Terrible driver, obviously. You’re not hurt, are you?”
As Ethan stepped closer, Lucas’s frost-cold eyes narrowed. His voice was low, lethal.
“Get lost.”
Ethan laughed nervously. “Right! I’ll make her get lost—”
Elena, silent until now, slowly unclenched her fingers from the car door, relief flickering through her.
Good.
Three years had passed. Surely Lucas Bennett had forgotten her by now…
In the next breath, Lucas’s gaze slid past Ethan—dismissing him entirely—and lifted to Elena standing in the rain.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a command.
“I said you get lost.”
Ethan’s smile died.
Lucas’s eyes, dark and unreadable, settled fully on Elena’s face.
Deep, resonant, each word deliberate.
“She stays.”
Elena’s body went rigid.
Ethan, sensing an escape route, jumped at it. “Elena, my uncle’s car isn’t cheap. You caused this mess—handle it yourself.”
With that, he grabbed his flustered lover and flagged down a cab, disappearing into the night without looking back.
Leaving Elena alone on the rain-soaked street, facing him.
A cool spring breeze lifted strands of hair around her face; raindrops clung to her curled lashes. Lucas stepped forward until the umbrella shielded her too, close enough to touch.
Their eyes met in the charged space between them.
Up close, three years had only sharpened him—features more angular, presence heavier, the tailored suit hugging broad shoulders and a lean waist. Mature, masculine intensity radiated from him, straining against the crisp shirt with every roll of his throat.
Elena swallowed involuntarily.
Still unfairly gorgeous.
Lucas’s knuckles whitened around the umbrella handle, as if fighting the urge to tilt it further over her.
He hated her. Hated her with every fiber.
So why was he shielding her from the rain?
His gaze darkened, a faint, dangerous curve touching his lips.
“Miss me, darling?” The word dripped with mockery. “Ex… girl… friend.”
The title stung, but it was accurate.
They’d dated briefly in college. It ended fast.
She’d been the one to walk away.
Resentment was fair.
Elena dipped her head slightly, cutting straight to business. “Mr. Bennett, the accident was entirely my fault. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Mr. Bennett.
A flicker of amusement—cold and sharp—passed through his eyes.
Mr. Bennett? How formal.
His little ex had certainly learned distance.
But at least she hadn’t forgotten his name entirely.
He stepped closer. The wide umbrella shifted—whether by accident or design—fully covering her from the rain.
Those seductive, fox-like eyes lifted, locking onto hers. His gloved fingers flexed; his voice dropped, low and deliberate.
“An apology isn’t enough.”
“You,” he said, each word a promise, “are going to take full responsibility.”
