The flight back to Los Angeles was smooth, the cityscape sprawling endlessly beneath the jet's windows as the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow across the skyline. Hours later, the private terminal at LAX felt cold and quiet compared to the chaos of New York.
Waiting at the curb was his car—a red McLaren Speedtail, polished to perfection, its sleek curves gleaming under the airport lights. The valet, dressed in black, handed him the keys with a respectful nod.
Parker slipped a few crisp bills into the man's hand without a word, the silent exchange as effortless as breathing.
Sliding into the leather seat, the low hum of the engine rumbled beneath him, a beast purring with restrained power. The city felt familiar, yet oddly hollow as he sped through the streets, weaving past late-night traffic with fluid precision.
