Stan let out a long, steady sigh as he and Mia stepped out of the now-quiet club into the cool night air. The flashing police lights had faded, but the adrenaline still lingered in his veins.
His hand rested possessively on the curve of her waist, fingers splayed over the thin crimson fabric that clung to her wide hips. The dress had survived the chaos remarkably well, though it now carried the faint scent of the night's tension mixed with her warm perfume.
"I can't drive you straight home when you're still like this," he said gently, guiding her toward the matte-black Huracán. "How about we go to a cinema instead? Something calm to unwind."
Mia's eyes, still a little red from earlier tears, lit up instantly. The heavy weight on her chest lifted visibly, replaced by a soft, hopeful glow. "Really?" Her voice carried pure, surprised delight, the kind that made her full lips curve into a radiant smile.
