Luxury Ride

The hum of the engine was smooth as silk, nearly silent under the thick leather seats of the blacked-out limousine. Beyond the tinted windows, the city of New Berlin flickered in a haze of neon blues and ultraviolet. It was a city that never truly slept—only dimmed, like a cigarette burning slow in the dark.

Carla Radames leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, her bare skin wrapped in a white fur coat that shimmered under the soft interior lights. The coat wasn’t about warmth—it was a message. A symbol. Elegance sharpened into a weapon. Around her fingers, black gloves revealed chipped nail polish, remnants of a day filled with locked doors and quiet threats.

She swirled the ice in her glass, the amber drink catching the passing lights like molten gold. Her gaze wasn’t on the skyline—it was focused inward, calculating, remembering.

Somewhere beneath the city, a deal had collapsed.
Somewhere above it, she was already in control.

The limo drifted past the edge of the financial sector, where Blue Umbrella's tower speared the clouds. Carla’s reflection stared back at her in the glass—calm, unbothered, dangerous. She liked that. The world saw her as a ghost of ambition, a myth wrapped in black silk and diamond silence.

She turned to the driver, speaking without raising her voice.
“Pull into the back of the Interlink Plaza. They’re expecting me.”

He nodded. No questions. No need for them. Carla didn’t deal in explanations.

As the car slid into a private bay behind the tower, she finished her drink, lips barely touching the rim. She stood, letting the fur slide off her shoulders just enough to hint at the woman beneath—disciplined, beautiful, deadly.

The doors opened. Cameras watched. Men in suits turned.

And Carla Radames stepped into the night like she owned it.

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