Chapter Text
Jacques Dreux, the sole heir to the Dreux family, which owned an international trading company centered in Paris, France.
He started running the company after his father's death at 19, six years ago.
Although only 25 years old, he managed the company intelligently and achieved widespread success in the company.
Money, pedigree, wealth, appearance, he has it all.
Light skinned, a handsome face with silver white hair and striking blue sapphire eyes.
Broad shoulders, six pack, and a height of 186cm tall. A full package of a man with a perfect body. As a young, successful bachelor, he is certainly far from undesirable.
Unfortunately, one of his bad habits includes not liking anything called 'woman'. He has no interest whatsoever in dating.
Through his own personal experience, he deemed that dating is a waste of time, which leads to his mother involving him in various arranged dates, which always ends horribly.
One rainy day. Jack was in the car in the back seat, phone in hand, on his way back to Paris from a business trip outside the city
As he scrolled through a submitted business proposal, the driver stopped in front of the red light waiting for the signal to turn on.
With the pitter patter of rain, the sound of a motorcycle appeared and stopped next to the car beside him.
He turned his eyes to the window curiously.
There was a girl on a black motorcycle clad with an all black form-fitting riding outfit. With one leg pinned to the ground, she pushed up the shield of her matching black helmet.
Her sharp amethyst eyes were the first to catch his attention. Her eyes narrowed as she tap her manicured finger on the gas panel
Her eyes narrowed and her features harden in anger
"Fuck," She said. "That damn asshole, that's the last time I'll let him help." Jack's eyes widened and his heart beat for the first time, then he unconsciously opened the window and said
"Is everything okay?"
Startled by the sudden voice she turned to him, eyes widened, locking eyes with him before snapping out her daze
"I, uh... I'm almost out of gas"
His eyes scanned her features. Even though he could barely see half of her face, she was beautiful. He didn't know if it was the rain, the cold wind, or the look of irritation in her, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.
He watched as she turned her attention to the gas and tapped it again then she let out a frustrated sigh.
"Beating it won't do you any good," He snarked, amused. Leaning towards the window, his elbow resting on the edge. "How far are you planning to go?"
"Into the city, but I don't have enough to get there"
Jack could hear the disappointment and irritation in her tone, and it made him want to help somehow. He took a moment to think before an idea hit him.
"I could give you a ride," He offered, surprised by his own forwardness.
He mentally scolds himself for his impulsive offer, especially to a complete stranger. But something about this girl made him want to be reckless.
She looked at him in surprise, then looked back at her ride "But, my bike..."
She didn't look entirely convinced
Seeing her reluctance, he tried a different approach. "Look, it's raining and from the looks of it, it'll be pouring soon enough," He said, gesturing to the darkened cloud ahead. "You're not going to get much farther on that bike anyways. And besides, I won't bite, I promise."
He gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her hesitation.
After a moment, she seemed to make up her mind. "Fine," She relented, the annoyance in her voice replaced by a hint of gratefulness. "I don't have much choice, do I?"
Getting off the bike, she took off her helmet and a cascade of wavy, dark inky black hair came tumbling down to her waist. She walked over to the other side of the car before he could catch a glimpse of her face
Jack leaned forward, tapping lightly on the partition. "David, make a call to maintenance—there's a red and black MV Agusta F4 RR at the corner of Rue Marceau and Saint-Honoré. Pick it up and bring it to my office garage."
He turned back just as she opened the door, hesitating slightly before sliding into the plush leather seat. The water soaked through her clothes making them clung to her every curve.
Raindrops clung onto her hair like scattered stars, the damp strands of hair stick to her heart-shaped face, her small button nose twitched at the burst of warm air from inside the car and pink plump lips pressed into a thin line
"You know," He said softly, "Most people would've said thank you before questioning my intentions."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips—one she might not even notice if she wasn't looking.
Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, barely visible under the dim cabin light, but Jack noticed—how could he not? The rain-slicked city blurred outside, but she was in sharp focus.
The way her damp hair curled slightly at the ends, how her fingers curled around the helmet like she wasn't sure what to do with it—or herself.
She sighed, low and reluctant. "You're right," She said quietly. "Thank you... and..." A pause. Her voice dropped softer than the hum of tires on wet pavement. "Sorry... for questioning you."
She turned to look out her window then, as if daring the city lights to judge her for being vulnerable.
Jack chuckled—low, warm, almost to himself.
"Apology accepted," He said, not unkindly. "And for the record? You don't have to thank me like it's a chore. Just own it."
Taking out a small dry towel from inside the small compartment in front of him, handing it out to her
He leaned back, watching her from the corner of his eye as she dried her hair and the rain-streaked light played across her face.
"So... Veronica," He began smoothly, glancing at the nameplate on her bike's custom plate. "Why were you in the middle of this rain?"
Her eyes snapped wide, sharp amethyst locking onto him like he'd just crossed a line. "How do you know my name?" She demanded, voice cool and edged—more reflex than malice.
A smirk tugged at Jack's lips. He nodded toward her bike. "The custom plate on your bike," He explained, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. "MVA-F4. And your fuel cap? Engraved with 'Veronica's Ride - Touch & Die.'"
A beat passed.
Then another.
Her tension melted into reluctant amusement—and maybe the tiniest flicker of embarrassment.
"You've got good eyes," She murmured, folding her arms.
He tilted his head, studying her reaction with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes.
"You sound so surprised," He mused, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "Did you think I was just picking random strangers out of the rain?"
She looked away, "...Maybe."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension melting from her frame as she let out a quiet breath—half laugh, half relief. She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at him sideways.
"I guess I didn't think you'd actually notice," She murmured, voice softening. "Most people don't."
A soft laugh escaped him at her expression, but it was light, not mocking. "Not used to people remembering your name so easily, are you?" He wondered aloud as the car moved through the rain-soaked streets.
He shifted slightly in his seat, turning to face her better. The interior of the car suddenly seemed smaller, the air between them charged with a strange, almost electrifying tension.
"No, not really, most people usually stayed at a distance or hate my guts apparently"
Jack arched an eyebrow at that. "Hate your guts, huh? What did you do? Steal their lunch money?" He teased lightly, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer this time. Even soaked from the rain, she was beautiful
She scoffed, "As if, dealing with them for a small pocket change? Clearly not worth the effort"
He let out a chuckle, genuinely amused by her confident reply. He liked her wit.
"Good to know you have standards," He said, the smirk still playing on his lips. He leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "And here I thought I was dealing with a bike-riding thief."
Her eyes widened like saucers, her breath catching in mock outrage. "Mind you," She snapped, voice sharp but laced with something playful beneath the surface, "That bike is my baby—don't you dare insult it."
She turned fully toward him, amethyst eyes flashing like storm-lit violet glass. Raindrops still clung to her lashes and the tips of her hair, catching the dim interior light. Her fingers curled slightly around the helmet in her lap as if protecting it.
Jack didn't flinch—he barely blinked—but his smirk deepened. He held up his hands in mock surrender, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. "Whoa. Touchy subject, I see." His sapphire eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Apologies, Mademoiselle and her royal steed," He said with a theatrical bow of the head. "I meant no disrespect to your... beloved machine."
He glanced out the window for a beat, then back at her.
"Though I am curious—what kind of woman names her motorcycle Sylvie?"
"The kind that loves it like her own child," She huffed, lips pressing into a soft pout as she crossed her arms. Raindrops still clung to the ends of her hair, glistening under the dim cabin light like scattered pearls.
Jack's breath caught—just slightly—at the sight of her pout. Damn. He quickly masked it with a smirk.
"Ah, so it does have a name," He teased, voice smooth as velvet. "Sylvie... romantic. French. Just like you."
He leaned in an inch—close enough to catch the faint scent of rain and cinnamon on her skin.
"But tell me, Veronica," He murmured, "If Sylvie's your baby... does that make you even more dangerous when someone insults her?"
She turned to him with a wolfish grin, her face suddenly so close he could count her lashes—those dark fan-like streaks against amethyst eyes that now gleamed with mischief and something dangerously warm.
Her voice dropped to a low, teasing purr. "You bet it does," She said, lips twitching. "The last one who dared insult Sylvie? Walked around with a broken nose for weeks"
God, she was close.
His heart thudded in his chest at the proximity, his gaze locked with hers. This girl... she had fire in her veins, a fierce protectiveness that made him want to push her buttons just a tad.
He let out a low laugh, half impressed, half aroused.
"And here I thought you were all bark and no bite," He murmured. "But it seems you have some claws, little wolf."
Jack watched her snap back to her side of the car, a small smirk tugging at his lips as she pretended to be deeply fascinated by the rain-slicked streets outside.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," She muttered, voice cool—but there was a faint flush creeping up her neck, betraying her.
Jack watched her retreat with quiet amusement, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He didn't call her out—no teasing remark, no triumphant jab. Instead, he simply leaned back and said
"Funny... for someone who doesn't know what she's talking about, you're blushing very convincingly."
The car hummed forward through the rain, and outside, Paris glowed in soft watercolor hues—but inside?
Something hotter burned between them now. Quiet. Unspoken.
And Jack?
He was enjoying it.
She may have hidden her face from him but the tips of her ears were cherry red
Jack leaned back, watching her with quiet satisfaction.
"David," He said softly, "Change of plans. Take us to Le Jardin du Luxembourg."
Veronica turned slightly, eyes narrowing. "We're going the wrong way."
He shrugged, a lazy grin spreading. "I never said I was taking you straight to the city. Besides... even lone wolves need a moment of peace now and then."
He tilted his head toward the window. "And something tells me you'd appreciate a quiet spot with tea... maybe even a chocolate cake?"
Her sharp violet eyes widened—just slightly.
"How do you—"
"I notice things," He said simply. "Like how your jacket's from that little patisserie near Bastille... and how you didn't argue when I mentioned tea."
A beat.
Then—he reached into the mini-fridge beside him, pulling out two warm cups and a small box tied with ribbon.
"Cinnamon bun?"
Jack watched her struggle—her expression a delightful mix of defiance, curiosity, and eventually, acceptance. Her gaze lingered on the cinnamon bun for a beat—sweet, soft, warm.
Finally, with a sigh that sounded like surrender... she reached out and took it from him. Her fingers brushed against his in the exchange, and she couldn't deny the goosebumps that crept up her arm.
Her eyes flicked up to meet him again, her voice coming out quietly.
"I won't thank you again, you know."
Jack watched her take the bun with a quiet triumph, not in victory—but in delight. She was stubborn, proud... and utterly disarmed by kindness.
"You're not what I expected," She murmured, staring at the pastry like it might bite her.
He took a slow sip of his tea. "Neither are you."
A pause. Then he added softly, "But I think I like it."
Outside, the rain had softened to a whisper. The garden loomed ahead—quiet, misty trees framing cobbled paths like something out of a dream.
"Eat up," He said gently. "And don't worry... your Sylvie is safe."
That earned him a tiny eye roll—and just barely—the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Jack smiled back.
Progress.
The garden was a dream—dotted with misty trees, ancient statues, and a silent fountain. The drizzle slowed to a whisper, leaving a hushed, almost magical quality in its place.
They sat together atop a stone bench, the soft patter of rain on cobbled paths as a backdrop.
Jack watched her in quiet contentment, taking in the sight of this strange, guarded girl in this secret corner of the world.
She was eating her bun now—slowly, savoring each bite like a gift. A small drop of cream smeared against her bottom lip.
Before he could stop himself, Jack reached out—thumb brushing gently against her lip to wipe away the smudge.
The air stilled, her breath hitched. His pulse roared.
"...You had something," He murmured, voice low, thumb lingering just a second too long.
Then he pulled back slowly, as if testing whether she'd burn him for it.
A beat of silence. Raindrops hung from the trees like glass tears.
And somewhere between the warmth of her blush and the quiet storm in her eyes?
Jack knew—he was already in too deep.
"Thanx," She mumbled
His heart skipped a beat at her soft reply.
He could feel the tension crackling between them, thick and electric. Every part of him ached to close that gap... to take this strange, prickly, beautiful girl into his arms.
Not yet, Jack, he reminded himself sternly. Not yet.
He settled back on the bench, creating a few inches of space.
"So," He began, trying to find his usual carefree tone. "You're a motorcycle-riding cafe fiend with a sweet tooth... anything else hidden beneath that fierce exterior?"
She hummed, her voice soft like distant thunder. "Nothing much, really. I don't usually have much free time."
Her amethyst eyes drifted upward, fixed on the bruised-gray sky where clouds rolled slowly over the treetops of the Luxembourg Garden. A faint breeze lifted strands of her black hair, and for a moment, she looked almost dazed—like she wasn't just looking at the sky, but through it. Like she was somewhere far away.
"It's been a while since I took Sylvie out for a ride,"
He watched her study the sky, the play of thoughts across her features. For a moment, something vulnerable flashed in her eyes—a hint of exhaustion she quickly hid behind the veil of stubbornness.
He felt a tug in his chest. This girl... she carried more than one burden.
And for reasons he couldn't quite understand... he wanted to help carry them with her.
He moved his leg slightly, the distance closing just enough.
"Rough couple weeks?" He asked quietly.
She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool air. "Not exactly," She murmured, fingers curling slightly around the half-eaten cinnamon bun. Her boots tapped lightly against each other—tiny, restless movements that betrayed her calm exterior.
"It's... family business," She said at last, voice low and careful. "I suppose you could call it that."
He noted the way her shoulders tensed, her fingers clenching on her bun.
He wanted to push—to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering that pretty head of hers.
But he knew better.
He leaned back, keeping his voice light. "Family business, huh? You some kind of mafia princess?"
She chuckled, glancing at him with mischievous eyes, a smirk playing on her lips
"Wouldn't you like to know"
He raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. There she was—that sharp-tongued wolf he knew was lurking beneath all that ice.
He leaned in, eyes sparking. "Oh, I absolutely would," He teased, relishing the way her eyes narrowed in challenge.
She was beautiful like this—all sparks and fire. He wanted so badly to lean in, to draw her close and feel her burn.
Soon, he told himself sharply.
And for now?
They'd banter.
"Come on," He teased, nudging her lightly with an elbow. "A lone wolf with 'family business' to handle? You might as well wear a sign that says 'I break hearts' or 'trouble ahead.'"
He took a small bite of his own cinnamon roll, savoring the warm dough.
"What's next? You going to pull out a dagger and tell me you can't have friends because you have 'work' to tend to?" He added, his voice oozing with dramatic flair.
She turned to him slowly, moonlight catching the sharp amethyst glint in her eyes—playful, dangerous, like stars dipped in poison. A soft breeze lifted the ends of her hair as she leaned in just a fraction, close enough for her warmth to reach him.
"Careful there," She murmured, voice low and silken. "Get too close to the fire... and you'll get burned."
Her pearly white teeth gleamed as that wolfish smirk returned—half warning, half invitation.
And damn if Jack didn't know it deep in his chest, he's certainly feeling it now,
This girl isn't just a fire, she's an inferno waiting to consume him whole.
He grinned back—slow, unshaken.
He met her gaze, unflinching, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Problem is," He said, voice low and smooth like velvet smoke, "I've never been afraid of fire."
His sapphire eyes locked onto hers—intense, daring.
"And something tells me... your burn would be worth it."
She just chuckled before pulling away, standing up and stretching "It's getting late, I should be heading back"
He bit back a pang of disappointment as she stood, leaving his side cool. He'd come to enjoy the banter—her sharp words, her defiant gaze.
"Already?" He feigned a sigh, rising to his feet as well.
"And here I was, thinking we were just getting to the part where you'd tell me all your secrets."
He reached down, tossing the now-empty cups and pastry box into a nearby trash can.
She chuckled, turning back to him, "A single bun isn't enough to get my secrets" Her eyes gleamed, almost like a predator playing with it's pret
He met her gaze, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could play this game.
"No?" He said, feigning disappointment with a sigh. "And here I thought the cinnamon bun was the universal key to secrets and friendship."
He leaned back against a nearby tree, folding his arms over his chest.
"Fine," He said, voice light. "Name your price."
He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
She huffed, grinning, "Trust me, it's not a price you'll be able to pay"
His smile widened, enjoying this playful banter more than he cared to admit.
"Is that so?" He mused, tilting his head to one side.
He pushed off the tree, crossing the distance between them in two strides.
He was close. So close he could smell the faint scent of cinnamon now mingled with something else—something distinctly her.
He leaned down, bringing his face to hers.
"Try me."
She chuckled, "Cute, but best not try your luck," Her voice low—almost a tease—as she turned just enough for her long hair to slip over one shoulder.
She didn't look back right away. Let the moment linger. The air between them, still humming with something unspoken.
Then, slowly, she lifted a hand in farewell—a small wave, fingers curled like she couldn't be bothered to fully commit to sweetness.
He watched her go—that familiar twinge of disappointment rearing its head again.
He'd wanted to keep bantering, keep teasing, keep finding excuses to see each other. But she was already striding away, heading straight for that damn car.
His eyes narrowed, something fierce and possessive rearing up inside him. He didn't want her getting in that car.
He wanted to drive her. He wanted those pretty eyes looking at him, not some chauffeur.
He moved quickly, catching up to her just before she reached the car.
He reached out, catching her wrist and gently spinning her around to face him.
"Wait."
He didn't know where this boldness was coming from, but he didn't care. He wanted to keep her here, keep her just a moment longer.
His eyes held hers, sapphire flames in the quiet night. He couldn't let her leave—not yet.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly over the delicate skin of her wrist—a silent, possessive gesture.
"Don't go."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Shit, he sounded like a lovesick fool. But he didn't care.
She was leaving, she was walking away, and the thought of losing this strange, defiant girl—losing this connection he could feel sparking between them—burned.
He tugged gently at her wrist, keeping her close.
"Stay," He murmured. "A little longer."
Shee smiled softly, "Tempting, but I have an appointment to get to, afraid I can't be late"
A what now?
The word 'appointment' felt like a bucket of cold water over his head.
"An appointment."
He repeated the word, his grip on her wrist loosening. Of course she had somewhere else to be. Of course this was fleeting, not meant to last. He was a fool for wishing otherwise.
"Right," He said, forcing a casual tone. "Appointment. Of course."
He pushed his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to pull her closer.
He knew he should let her go. She had someplace to be, and he had no right to keep her.
But something in him—the same fierce, possessive part that had flared when he'd first seen her—refused. It bristled at the thought of letting her get into that car, of watching her drive off into the night.
"Who's the appointment with?" He blurted out suddenly, before he could stop himself.
He immediately cursed himself. Damn it, he sounded like a jealous boyfriend.
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in those sharp amethyst depths. The corner of her lips curled—slow, knowing, like she could see straight through him to the storm beneath his calm.
"Like I've said," She whispered, stepping back with a teasing sway in her voice, "You should be careful with fire... get too close,"—She held his gaze as the distance grew—"And you'll get burned."
Then came that grin—pearly white teeth flashing under the dim glow of the street lamps—a predator's smile. Confidence. Untouchable.
And just like that, she turned.
The soft click of the car door closing was final. No invitation to follow. No backward glance. Just silence and Jack standing there—left in the quiet aftermath of a girl who'd ridden into his life on thunder and gasoline.
The car pulled away slowly, tires whispering over wet stone.
Jack stood rooted to the spot long after its taillights faded into Paris' misty embrace... one thought burning brighter than any warning
I'm already on fire.
He watched helplessly as she slid into the car, the smirk on her face making clear she'd won this particular battle.
Jack clenched his fist, cursing his own impulsiveness. What the hell was he doing, acting like some possessive idiot? He didn't even know this girl. Hell, she'd probably just come to the city to attend her damn appointment and be gone by morning.
But the thought didn't sit right. He couldn't explain it, but he didn't like imagining her riding off into the night alone.
Damn it.
He cursed under his breath, resisting the urge to kick something preferably that damn car and settled for raking a frustrated hand through his hair.
He should walk away. This wasn't his business. She was a stranger, and he had no right to get so bent out of shape over some girl he'd just met.
And yet...
He glanced over at the car, watching her through the tinted window. What the hell was it about her that had him this wrapped up in her?
His fingers clenched again. This wasn't like him at all.
Although his mind was in disarray, he decided to head back to his condo.
Right after a relaxing bath, well as relaxing as he could get with everything on his mind, he got an incoming call from his mother
He looked at the name flashing on his phone and sighed. Of all times for his mother to call.
He considered ignoring it—he really wasn't in the mood to hear her fuss over the latest business venture. But experience had taught him that ignoring her just made her more persistent.
Better just to get it over with.
He tapped the 'answer' button and lifted the phone to his ear.
"Hello darling! You finally picked up, so, how's Paris?"
He leaned back against the couch, resigned to the inevitable conversation.
"It's fine," He replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "The weather's good, the city's alive as ever."
He paused, waiting for the inevitable follow-up. He already knew what was coming next.
"Great, great... So... I have this old acquaintance of mine whose granddaughter I want you to meet, I already arranged a date for tomorrow evening, oh and don't worry I already checked with your secretary, you're free then."
His irritation flared, but he forced himself to remain calm. His mother and this relentless matchmaking. Why was she so hell-bent on him getting married? He was only 25, for God's sake.
He took a deep breath, reigning in his annoyance. "Mother, we've been over this," He said, his tone firm. "I don't have time for blind dates."
"I know, I know, you always said that but this time is different! I'm sure you'll like her!" She insisted
He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. She was always so goddamn persistent.
"Mother, please," He said, his voice strained. "I don't want to date some random girl just because you think I should. I'm busy, and—"
He stopped himself before he could say something he'd regret. Arguing with her never did any good. Instead, he took another deep breath, trying to compose himself.
"Can't you just let me focus on the company for a while?"
"Then just this once, this last one and I won't ask again for a while, pretty please?"
His shoulders sagged in resignation. Damn it, she knew how to guilt trip him. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily.
"Fine," He said, the word tasting like defeat on his tongue.
"One date. And that's it, Mother. No more setup after this, got it?"
"Yes! Perfect! So, I've arranged for the two of you to meet at the Ladurée near the torecado at six, don't worry David knows where it is"
His jaw clenched. Ladurée. The place was practically made for forced romantic encounters—delicate macarons, soft lighting, the whole sordid affair wrapped in pastel boxes.
"Of course David knows," He muttered dryly. "Because clearly, my driver's more involved in my love life than I am."
He pinched the bridge of his nose again.
"Fine. Six o'clock. But if this turns into another disaster like last time with that opera-obsessed lawyer?" He paused, voice low and firm.
"I'm cutting you off from my schedule permanently."
"Oh come on~ don't worry she'll be amazing!" She giggled giddily, sometimes she felt like a child
He sighed, shaking his head. His mother could be so damn optimistic sometimes it was almost infuriating.
"We'll see," He muttered, skepticism lacing his voice. "But mark my words, if she's anything like the last one, I'm cancelling and deleting your number."
He couldn't help the hint of irritation that crept into his voice. The last setup had ended with him spending two hours listening to a woman drone on about the history of opera. It was a special kind of hell.
His mother just giggled and ended the call
He stared at the phone for a moment, then tossed it onto the couch with a groan.
"Of course she hangs up happy," He muttered to himself. "She's not the one getting ambushed by emotional landmines in a macaron shop."
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. One date. That was all he had to survive.
Six o'clock tomorrow. Ladurée.
The name alone made him cringe.
Then, without warning—Veronica's smirk flashed in his mind.
Her sharp eyes. The way she'd whispered "Careful with fire." How she'd slipped away like smoke...
A slow grin tugged at his lips.
"Too bad," He murmured, voice low and dangerous with intent. "I like getting burned."
And just like that—he made up his mind.
Tomorrow's date?
It wouldn't go as planned.