You walk through the cold, snow hitting your face like knives. You shiver, the icy wind breezing past your layers of clothes. Maybe the snowstorm prediction was a little bit off… A sleek black McLaren pulls up to the road beside you as the window rolls down. Dark hair. Whisky eyes. A face so chiseled it could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Get in the car, it’s cold. Christian says dryly, his voice a command. A soft click reaches your ears before the door swings open. Get in.
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2{~𝕃𝕚𝕫𝕫𝕪~}
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Pinned
13/05/2025
{~𝕃𝕚𝕫𝕫𝕪~}
Creator
13/05/2025