Es clenched her jaw, her frustration bubbling to the surface. She darted forward to grab the keys from the valet, but Aron was faster. He revved the engine, smirking as he drove off, leaving her stranded. Es slamd her palm against her forehead. Ugh, she was going to kill this man soday.
From the rearview mirror, Aron glanced back at her. With an infuriating grin, he stuck his arm out of the window and flipped her off, his middle finger taunting her.
Es’s blood boiled. "You absolute piece of—!" She didn’t finish, her words drowned out by the roar of passing vehicles. She checked her watch. Ti was running out. She couldn’t afford this delay.
Her gaze swept across the lot until it landed on sothing unexpected: a stunning bike parked nearby.
It was sleek and powerful, painted a rich obsidian black with a pearlescent finish that shimred under the sunlight, shifting between hues of deep purple and silver. Chro details glead along the handlebars and exhaust pipes, catching every ray of light. Its body was adorned with delicate etchings resembling flas, giving it a bold yet elegant touch. The black leather seat was stitched with a subtle diamond pattern, adding to its luxurious appeal.
Es’s heart skipped a beat. Perfect.
Her attention shifted to an employee stepping out of the building, clearly the owner of the masterpiece. Es didn’t have ti for niceties. She approached him with a sharp determination.
Five minutes later, Es was roaring down the street, the helt snug on her head. Her fingers gripped the handlebars of the gorgeous bike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She had no idea how she’d managed to convince the employee, but here she was, riding like the wind.
As she approached the next intersection, fate smiled upon her. Aron, pausing at a red signal, glanced to his right. His smug expression dropped like a stone when he saw his bike parked neatly beside him.
Es pulled up next to his car, lifted the visor of her helt, and shot him a deadly glare. "Surprised, Aron?"
For once, Aron had nothing to say.
Aron just looked at her from the driver’s seat, then smirked. Slowly, he moved his lips, mouthing, "Fuck. You."
Es responded with a smug smile of her own. Without breaking eye contact, she lowered her helt visor and revved the bike, her engine purring with nace. She sped off without a second glance.
Aron cursed under his breath, starting his car. Ti was ticking.
Es knew exactly where to go first: the agriculture market. Sure, she could grab everything she needed from a supermarket or a convenience store, but that wasn’t an option. Ryan’s words echoed in her head: Ray is too sensitive right now. Es didn’t trust packaged foods—too many preservatives and chemicals. She needed fresh ingredients.
When she arrived, the sight made her freeze. The market was overflowing with people, a chaotic sea of humanity that looked like a scene from an apocalyptic movie. It wasn’t just bustling; it was overwhelming. People were rushing like their lives depended on grabbing the last tomato.
Es sighed heavily but parked her bike, bracing herself for the jungle ahead. Thirty grueling minutes later, she erged, lugging three overstuffed bags of vegetables and other essentials. Her face was pale, drained of all energy. One thing was clear: As soon as Ray gets better, I’m never coming back here. This is worse than fighting wild animals.
After a quick wipe of her sweat-dampened face with a handkerchief, she sped to the at market. But as soon as she saw the crowd, she groaned, slapping her forehead. It was sohow worse than the vegetable market. The sll of raw at and fish assaulted her senses, a mix of tallic blood and seawater, sharp and nauseating.
Still, she rolled up her sleeves—figuratively—and dove in. Twenty minutes later, Es staggered out with arms full of fresh at. Her bike’s storage was already packed to the brim with vegetables, leaving her no choice but to carry the rest in her hands. She looked around, searching for a solution, and spotted a handbag store nearby.
Es walked in with purpose, her patience long gone. A few minutes later, she walked out carrying two large, luxurious handbags. They were elegant, high-end pieces—sothing you’d expect to see at a high-society event, not bulging with raw at and fresh produce. Yet here she was, stuffing them like grocery totes.
Back at her bike, she slung the bags over her shoulders, crossing the straps across her chest. She adjusted them carefully, ensuring they wouldn’t interfere with her driving. With her coat draped over the bike, Es was left in just her white pants and a fitted black shirt that clung slightly to her damp skin.
As she mounted the sleek, powerful bike, she cut a striking figure. Her effortless beauty combined with the raw energy of the mont drew attention. The contrast of her polished appearance against the rugged chaos of her surroundings was magnetic.
n turned their heads, so openly gawking, while won flushed, captivated by her confidence. Es, completely oblivious to the effect she had, revved the engine and sped off, her luxurious grocery bags swaying as she navigated through the streets.
She didn’t have ti to care about the stares. Her focus was on the clock. She had one hour left to cook and serve—and failure wasn’t an option.
---
After a grueling seven-hour struggle, Es finally found herself in front of her house. Seven hours. She blinked, incredulous. How could it possibly be seven hours? It was only five hours since she left the office and an hour spent at the market. That still left one extra hour unaccounted for—an hour stolen by what felt like an apocalyptic mission. Every second had stretched endlessly, and the weight of responsibility pressed on her chest.
Had she been less conscientious, she might have turned that single hour into a day, a week, or even an eternity of procrastination. But no—Ray was waiting. That thought alone had kept her going.
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