Lets get it over with
Chapter 44
Lorenzo
"Hey, stalker!" I shout the words across the crowded courtyard, watching Sophia as she hurries down the concrete steps.
I was fully expecting a message from her after she finally accepted my follower request yesterday , but she has ignored me all damn day.
Even after the football team and the swim team ended their practices at the exact same time, I just saw her fleeing the building in a desperate hurry.
She doesn't even look up at the sound of my voice, keeping her eyes glued tightly to the pavement as she practically sprints away from me.
A smirk tugs at my lips. I snatch my motorcycle helmet off the handlebars, prepping my bike.
"So, three hours at the docks?" Alex asks, pulling open the door to his Porsche. The engine roars to life, a sleek, obscenely expensive sound that perfectly matches his attitude.
"Yeah, and don't you dare be late," Matteo warns. His sharp eyes flick from Alex over to Ben, who is currently far too busy burying his tongue down the neck of some random brunette to actually pay attention to our schedule.
"I'm out," I say shortly, cutting them off.
I kick the starter, and my bike rumbles to life, vibrating violently beneath me. I don't head toward the main exit with the rest of the guys. Instead, I twist the throttle and roll slowly in the exact direction Sophia disappeared.
She is walking fast, her shoulders hunched and tense.
I accelerate, cutting sharply across the asphalt and braking hard right in front of her, entirely blocking her path.
"Hey! Are you crazy?!" she shrieks, stumbling backward in a blind panic as my front tire stops mere inches from her knees.
I pull my helmet off, letting the cool afternoon air hit my face. The exact moment she recognizes me, the terror in her eyes melts into profound annoyance—mixed with a tiny, hidden flicker of relief. I catch it instantly, even if she desperately doesn't want me to.
"You know, you're supposed to answer your messages, stalker."
"Right now, you're the one stalking me," she hisses, her eyes darting nervously around the open school grounds. "Besides, I don't want anyone seeing us together."
That forces a genuine grin out of me. At least she is honest.
"So, tell me what's on your schedule for today," I command.
She sighs, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "My aunt asked me to go pick up some fabrics. But I can handle it entirely on my own."
I know exactly what she is trying to do.
She is giving me an easy out, practically begging me to leave.
But I don't move a muscle. I keep the bike idling, the steady, rhythmic thrum of the heavy engine filling the suffocating silence between us.
I watch the way her pulse jumps frantically in her throat. She is getting nervous around me. Good.
"When?" I ask, my voice dropping to a flat, even tone.
"In about an hour," she mutters, looking at the ground.
"Okay. Get on."
Sophia stares at me, letting out a sharp, disbelief-filled laugh. "What?"
"I said get on. I'm driving you."
"No, thank you. I would literally rather hitchhike with a total stranger than get on your bike. Plus, I don't even have a helmet," she scoffs, turning sharply on her heel to walk away.
I let out a frustrated growl, twisting the throttle just enough to keep pace with her walking speed. The heavy bike crawls beside her on the pavement like a predator trailing its prey.
"Stop following me! I don't want the others starting up those stupid rumors again," she snaps, freezing in her tracks and glaring at me with real fire in her eyes.
"Then get on, Sophia, or this is going to take all damn day," I reply, my own impatience flaring hot behind my ribs. I don't understand why she fights me so hard on everything. "Here. Put this on."
I unclip my heavy helmet and hold it out to her. She looks at the helmet, then at my bare, unprotected head, shaking her head aggressively.
"No. I am not going to be responsible if you crash and crack your skull open because you aren't wearing a helmet."
A slow, dark grin creeps back onto my face. Look at that. The little stalker actually cares about my head.
Before she can object any further, I reach out and grab her wrist. My grip is gentle but entirely unyielding. I tug her sharply toward the bike and slap the leather seat right behind me with a definitive thud.
"Don't worry, stalker, I'm a professional. Now get on. Unless, of course, you want the rest of the football team to roll up and see us like this? They'll be out of the locker room in two minutes if you want to test my patience."
She looks down the long path, bites her lip, and finally lets out a defeated, frustrated sigh. A massive wave of satisfaction washes over me as she finally steps up and claims the leather seat directly behind me. I grip the handlebars, waiting.
"Why aren't we moving?" she demands after a quiet second.
"Two reasons. First, I actually need the address. And second..." I reach back blindly, my large hand finding her small wrists. I pull them forward, wrapping her arms firmly and securely around my waist.
She flinches, trying to violently pull away from me immediately, but I hold her hands pinned tightly against my ribs.
"Relax," I murmur over the rumble of the engine. "If you don't want to fly off the back when I accelerate, you need to hold on."
I slowly let go of her hands, testing her. To my surprise, she keeps them right there, her fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt in a tight, desperate hold.
I shift into first gear and roll on the gas.
The sudden, violent jerk of the motorcycle throws her body forward, slamming her chest hard against my broad back.
My breath entirely hitches in my throat. Every muscle in my body locks up as her warmth radiates right through my clothes. I squeeze the handlebars tighter, a dangerous spike of adrenaline flooding my veins.
Here we go.
"This isn't the way!" Sophia shouts from behind me, her frantic voice cutting through the heavy roar of the engine as I veer sharply right toward the mountain road.
"I know!" I yell back against the whipping wind, rolling hard on the throttle.
Ten minutes later, we pull up the long, sweeping, heavily guarded driveway of my family's estate. Before the engine even cuts out completely, she is already sliding off the leather seat, ripping my helmet off her head, and accusing me of lying to her.
I take the helmet from her trembling hands, secure it tightly to the bike, and guide her inside the massive house.
"Wait here. I'll be right back," I tell her, my voice brooking no argument.
I walk down the sprawling corridor in the direction of the pool house. It takes me about five minutes to pull off my sweat-drenched jersey, throw on a clean black t-shirt, and snatch a random car key off my dining table.
But as I make my way back to the main foyer, my jaw instantly tightens. Sophia is not alone.
Mia is sitting on the floor right beside her, her big eyes shining with absolute excitement as she shows off her plush dolls.
Both of them are grinning. Sophia doesn't look at my little sister like she's a broken, fragile object.
She doesn't mock her condition, and she doesn't treat her with the fake, pitiful sympathy that everyone else in this toxic elite world uses.
She is just talking to her. Treating her like a normal human being.
"Okay, let's go," I say shortly, cutting into the room and instantly drawing the attention back to me.
My little sister scrambles to her feet, running over to wrap her tiny arms around my waist in a tight hug. The second I look back up, Sophia's genuine grin completely vanishes. Her defensive guard goes right back up as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"We came all the way out to your mansion just so you could change your clothes?" Sophia asks, looking completely bewildered as I walk up to her
"No," I respond, a mock smirk playing on my lips. "We're here because it's a bit hard to transport heavy rolls of fabric on a motorcycle, don't you think?"
I turn and walk toward the private elevator hidden behind a marble column. "Are you coming or not?"
She hesitates for a tense second, her eyes darting between me and the elevator, before she finally steps inside and shoots me a deeply suspicious look. Goddamn it, she still doesn't trust me.
"If this is some kind of sick joke, Lorenzo..."
"It's not," I reassure her flatly as the polished steel doors slide shut, cutting off the rest of the world.
When the elevator doors glide open to the subterranean level, a soft, breathless "Wow..." escapes her lips.
The underground garage doesn't look like a parking lot—it looks like a brutalist, multi-million dollar museum carved deep into the belly of the earth.
Massive, towering concrete pillars curve upward like stone trees, illuminated from below by soft, dramatic spotlights.
Seamless, glowing strips of warm LED lights trace the entire length of the cavernous ceiling and the polished stone floors, reflecting off the dark, marbled concrete like liquid glass.
Tucked into the shadows between the giant pillars are rows upon rows of hypercars and custom vehicles, their sleek silhouettes gleaming under the hidden lights.
"Are... are all of these yours?" she asks softly, her footsteps echoing in the massive space as she trails closely behind me.
"Family," I reply shortly, my boots clicking against the marble as I stop directly in front of my matte-black Mercedes G-Wagon.
"Why does your family even need so many cars?" The question slips out of her mouth before she can stop it. The second she realizes what she said, she winces, trying to correct her tone.
"Past a certain point, you just don't know what else to do with your money," I answer honestly, pulling open the heavy door and climbing into the high driver's seat.