Chapter 803

What the—?

Rosalind's face burned crimson when she realized where her cheek had been pressed moments ago. She jerked back into her seat with such force that the seatbelt locked, then turned to glare at the masked driver.

"Creep!"

The man behind the wheel—face obscured by a sleek black mask—merely arched one visible brow. His piercing gray eyes glinted with silent laughter. "That's quite the accusation. Care to explain?"

His tone dripped with feigned innocence.

Rosalind's ears turned the shade of overripe cherries. "You know exactly what you—"

"What?" He tilted his head, the leather steering wheel creaking under his grip.

She clamped her mouth shut. Some things were too mortifying to voice aloud.

Behind them, Julian Blackwood's Ferrari roared like a caged beast as he tailgated their taxi. The billionaire heir couldn't fathom being outmaneuvered by some random cabbie in Metropolia's backstreets.

"Pull over!" Julian's shout carried through his rolled-down window, veins bulging at his temples. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? I'll have your license revoked before sunset!"

Rosalind massaged her throbbing temples. "Step on it!"

The driver's smirk deepened. "Thought you wanted out after that... unfortunate misunderstanding."

"I take it back!" She gripped the door handle as they took a sharp turn. "Just lose him!"

Ahead, the taxi swerved into a narrow service alley. Julian followed with a string of curses—only to slam the brakes when an eighteen-wheeler materialized from the opposite direction.

Horns blared. Tires screeched.

The Ferrari's hood stopped inches from the truck's grille.

Julian's knuckles whitened on the wheel. When he looked up, the alley yawned empty—no taillights, no engine sounds. Just shadows swallowing shadows.

His phone hit the dashboard with a crack. "Find that driver," he barked at his head of security. "I want his name, his route, his damn blood type within the hour."

Five minutes later, the callback came.

"Well?"

"Sir... there's no record of that taxi or its driver in our systems."

Julian's champagne leather seats creaked as he leaned forward. "What do you mean no record? It was a yellow cab with—"

"No such vehicle exists in Metropolia's registered fleet."

The phone shattered against the pavement. Somewhere in the city's labyrinthine streets, a masked man adjusted his rearview mirror—and smiled.