Helena had reached her breaking point. She was juggling two back-to-back cafeteria shifts, cramming for three final exams in her Business Administration program, and surviving on barely four hours of sleep in two days. So when she spotted a sleek black car parked outside the UNAM library close to 11 p.m., she assumed it was her Uber and slipped into the back seat without checking the plate.

The interior felt… expensive. Suspiciously luxurious for a ride-share. But exhaustion drowned out logic. She leaned back against the soft leather and closed her eyes for what was supposed to be a second.

She woke to a low, amused male voice.

“Do you normally climb into strangers’ cars, or am I special tonight?”

Her eyes flew open. A man sat beside her.

He wore a tailored suit, his dark hair styled in that perfectly imperfect way, his face sharp enough for a magazine cover. He was not an Uber driver. And when she glanced around, she noticed polished wood finishes… and a minibar built into the console.

Who installs a minibar in a car?

“You’ve been snoring for twenty minutes,” he added lightly.

She wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

She should have checked the license plate. That detail replayed in her mind constantly.

Running on caffeine and stubborn ambition, she had moved on autopilot that night. Black car. Right spot. Late hour. Good enough.

She opened the door, dropped into the back seat, and melted into the plush leather. The comfort should have warned her. It didn’t.

Instead, she drifted into the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks—until that teasing voice cut through her dream.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted once she realized her mistake. “I thought this was my Uber.”

“Well,” he said calmly, “technically you commandeered my car. And yes, you snore. A little. It’s almost charming.”

She denied it immediately.

He smiled.

“I’m Gabriel Albuquerque,” he said. “And this is the vehicle you’ve temporarily hijacked.”

The name meant nothing to her at the time, though his confidence suggested it should have.

Embarrassed, she reached for the door handle.

“It’s late,” he said. “Where do you live?”

“That’s not your concern.”

After a brief pause, he added, “Considering you just slept in my car, I think I’m allowed minimal concern. Let me take you home.”

She hesitated. Walking alone that late wasn’t wise.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if this turns into a crime documentary, I’ll be furious.”