The engine of the Aston Martin roared like a contained beast.
Luna held the steering wheel with one hand while the other rested casually on the open window, the city wind playing with the rebellious strands of her perfectly arranged hair. On the car speakers, a classic rap was hitting hard — one of those songs with soul, with real flow, that made the heart beat in rhythm with the beat.
She curved between the avenues of Manhattan as if it were just another random Tuesday… until two red Ferraris tore through the avenue like lightning bolts, overtaking her car on the left as if to provoke her.
Luna arched an eyebrow. "Tsk. They're really going to cut me off like that?"
With a slight smile forming on her lips, she turned off the autopilot mode, placed both hands on the steering wheel, and with a touch on the digital panel, activated a special setting that made the engine respond with a deeper roar, like a dragon waking up from a nap.
Stepping hard on the accelerator, Luna was swallowed by the speed.
The tires screamed as she weaved through traffic, approaching the Ferraris like a silent predator.
The city flickered around her, headlights and billboards merging into neon stripes on the car's glass.
Horns echoed, ordinary drivers panicking and swerving away.
The police, of course, didn't even try to compete, knowing any pursuit would be a waste of time.
On the expressway, urban chaos turned into a speed ring.
The first Ferrari driver, upon looking in the rearview mirror and seeing the Aston Martin approaching like a specter, widened his eyes.
The second Ferrari tried to block Luna's advance, shifting slightly to the right.
"Oh no, sweetheart," she murmured, spinning the wheel with mastery.
Luna swerved as if dancing.
She passed between two cars like a silver bullet and cut through the Ferrari by the middle lane, leaving only the reflection of the headlights as a sign of her presence.
Now, she was side by side with the first Ferrari, the engines' roar echoing like thunder through the city.
The man inside the car turned his face, surprised by the woman driving with a dangerously amused smile stamped on her face.
She just winked at him — an almost innocent gesture.
Then, she stepped on it harder.
The Aston Martin surged forward as if it had broken the laws of physics, leaving the Ferrari behind.
Adrenaline ran through Luna's veins like liquid fire.
The city, the lights, the sound of the wind — everything fused into a wonderful blur.
The tires sang on the avenue while the two Ferraris behind her pushed to the limit to keep up.
The drivers exchanged nervous glances at the woman's uncontrollable speed ahead of them. That was no longer just another street race — it was public humiliation.
Luna didn't care.
She laughed like a mischievous teenager, her eyes shining with excitement.
One of the Ferraris tried to use a truck as cover to cut through, but Luna had already anticipated it, turned the wheel with an almost artistic fluidity, the Aston Martin sliding between two cars as if the laws of physics were intoxicated by her beauty.
In the distance, the howl of a siren echoed.
"Oops," she murmured, seeing the blue lights flashing behind a distant curve.
Without hesitation, Luna let out a final laugh, waved casually through the sunroof as if saying "it was fun, boys"… and vanished.
She cut through a side exit, dove through smaller streets, entered a tunnel under an overpass, and disappeared from the sight of the speed hunters.
The Ferraris, confused and without the same predatory instinct, lost their prey.
So did the police car.
Luna was already miles ahead, hands light on the wheel and heart still racing.
Shortly after, with the sun already high in the sky, Luna parked her car in a quiet Brooklyn block.
She found a charming Mexican diner with colorful outdoor tables and an aroma in the air that felt like a spicy hug.
She sat down, ordered tacos, guacamole, and a soda with ice and lemon.
While waiting for the food, she picked up her phone. Notifications, of course.
Among them, one from Ivy. "Trash disposed of successfully. No traces."
Luna arched a satisfied eyebrow and murmured. "As it should be..."
Then she slid to the next app.
Facebook.
And there he was.
Matthew Solarius.
Posting selfies.
With that messy post-shower hair and that look of someone who has no idea of his own sin.
Luna froze for a second. "...perfect bastard."
She liked, privately shared, saved the photos to her phone.
She stared at one of the images with a hungry and dramatic expression. "This should be illegal, Matthew..."
Back to reality, her tacos arrived.
Between one bite and another, Luna opened TikTok.
The algorithm, as always, knew her too well.
First came a meme with a remixed audio of someone being romantically rejected and a dramatic tear filter.
Then, a video of a dog dancing with sunglasses.
Next, an edit of Kael and Victória with Arabic subtitles and a romantic song in the background.
She laughed out loud alone, attracting some glances from nearby tables, but didn't care.
After a whole day zigzagging, Luna finally returned to her private mansion.
The sky was already painting the horizon with orange and purple tones, and the city began to shine like a diamond necklace under the dusk.
As soon as she entered, she threw her purse aside, kicked her heels into the corner of the room, and collapsed onto the living room sofa with the grace and exhaustion of a diva tired of the world.
"Ah… my kingdom for a bubble bath, two brownies, and shirtless Matthew."
But her moment of peace didn't last long.
Ivy appeared holographically next to the sofa, floating like an AI assistant too elegant for her own source code.
"Luna," she said with her calm and soft voice, "allow me a few minutes to deal with an urgent matter."
Luna rolled her eyes, sprawled on the sofa like a lazy cat. "Alright, speak. But if it's another report about climate crisis or a new scandal involving the Prime Minister of Elarth, I swear I'll shut down the foundation's wi-fi."
"No, miss. The case is more serious," Ivy replied, projecting a series of holographic windows in the air with documents, news, and official transcripts. "We received confirmed information that in the country located on the eastern coast of the African continent, a man was killed this afternoon."
Luna arched an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes. "Right... and what does that have to do with the foundation?"
Ivy continued, changing the documents displayed. "The man was a key witness in the corruption case filed by the Malroth Foundation against members of the political high command. He was going to testify tomorrow, revealing data compromising the minister of urban development — the same one who, according to our investigations, embezzled more than 900 million dollars from the humanitarian investments sent by the foundation."
Luna slowly sat up on the sofa, her gaze now serious, cold.
"They're... cleaning house," she murmured, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her thighs, looking at the projections. "They're erasing everyone and everything that could harm them."
"Yes," confirmed Ivy. "The suspicion is that he was discreetly poisoned. Local authorities released it as 'sudden death by cardiac collapse,' but the independent report we financed identified toxin in the liver and kidney tissues."
Luna remained silent for a few seconds.
Then she stood up from the sofa with lethal elegance. "Ivy, send an urgent message to the Foundation's president. Tell him that... we're tightening the net."
"What are the exact orders, miss?"
Luna walked to the balcony, looking at the night swallowing New York. "I want the legal and diplomatic teams in the three international courts where the case is underway. Call in the support of the Phoenix Empire and, if necessary, buy media space on the less cooperative continents."
"Understood."
"And more..." added Luna, her voice low and firm like cold steel, "...I want eyes and ears there. If they're willing to kill witnesses, then they need to know they're not dealing with just any foundation. They're dealing with me."
Ivy projected a subtle chart of diplomatic routes, informing that the movement was already starting behind the scenes.
Luna turned around, hands on hips and green eyes blazing. "We're going to crush those rats with velvet gloves... and when it's over, I'll make a point of personally visiting the political grave of every corrupt involved. With flowers? No. With receipts."
Hours later, with the sky completely cloaked in the mantle of night, Luna was sprawled on the living room sofa of her private mansion.
The soft ambient lights reflected on the panoramic windows, and the background sound was filled only by clicks and soft Twitch notifications.
Wearing a black silk pajama with golden details, her hair tied up in a relaxed bun and a glass of rosé wine by her side, Luna looked like the portrait of indulgent laziness.
With the holographic tablet in front of her, she scrolled through dozens of livestreams from streamers around the world.
Some playing, others chatting, others just laughing with the chat.
Luna, like a digital patroness of the 31st century, spread astronomical donations as if tossing petals in a procession.
"Hmm… this one deserves a treat," she murmured, clicking to donate 1 million dollars to a Thai streamer playing competitively.
A bit later, a Brazilian girl playing guitar in a São Paulo park received 5 million.
"This vibe is just too classy."
Soon after, another channel caught her attention.
A young woman with delicate appearance, exotic features and a serene gaze, sitting in front of a digital landscape of stars, sang softly and emotionally — but only 18 viewers online. She looked new to the platform.
"You're lost here among all these noisy ones, aren't you?" Luna commented, smiling sideways.
Without a second thought, she donated 100 million dollars and wrote in the message: "You're beautiful. Sing very well. Now sing something from BlackPink for me."
The streamer froze.
For a second, even the stream's chat went silent.
She blinked, widened her eyes… but kept her composure.
"Uh… thank you very much for… for the donation?" she said, trying to remain composed. "But… who is BlackPink?"
Luna frowned.
"No… it can't be real. She doesn't know BlackPink?!" she muttered, comically indignant, before laughing.
Immediately, she donated another 100 million.
"BlackPink. K-pop. Girl group of the 21st century. Google it. Don't make me sad today."
The streamer, with the stoic calm of a monk, looked at the camera, then at her phone beside her, murmured a "just a moment," and disappeared from the screen for a few minutes.
The chat, of course, exploded in popularity.
Users from all over the world began to comment, scream, theorize about the donor's identity, while trying to introduce the poor streamer to the world of South Korean pop with frantic links.
Ten minutes later, she returned.
Now wearing a black T-shirt with an improvised "BLACKPINK" print made with white tape.
"Okay. Let's do this," she said, adjusting the microphone.
And then she started to sing.
A soft, almost acoustic version of "Stay," the emotional ballad from the group.
The streamer's voice had a melancholic and sweet tone, matching the mood of the song.
It was... genuine.
And beautiful.
Luna smiled.
"She sings well. Natural. Has a different beauty… and stage presence without even knowing she has it." she murmured, lying on her side, twirling the wine glass with her fingers. "This girl would make a perfect artist. Beautiful voice, beautiful face, innocent charisma. I love it."
Thoughtful, Luna picked up her phone and sent a message to the girls' group chat.
@SmellOfEarthAfterRain: "I think I just discovered a new star. Someone who can sing without autotune. I want to hire her for a Tycoon campaign. Write it down."
Seconds later, Nikoly replied: "At least it's not another car, right? Thanks for thinking about business, Your Highness of TikTok."
And Victória sent just an emoji followed by: "Send a photo of the girl."
Luna laughed out loud by herself, completely satisfied.