The Ferrari's low growl echoed along the cobblestone driveway as Jason guided it carefully toward the mansion gates. The ironwork stood tall, elaborate, and foreboding, like the mouth of a world far beyond anything he had known. The guards at the entrance had already been informed—Elena must have told them to let him in. Still, their eyes lingered as the bright red car slid past.
Jason tightened his grip on the wheel. His pulse beat steady, not out of fear this time, but out of awareness. This was no ordinary visit. The mansion ahead, vast and white-stone with polished glass windows, seemed to loom higher with each passing second.
He parked neatly near the front, easing the Ferrari into position. The engine hummed down until silence reclaimed the yard. Jason stepped out, the warm breeze brushing his skin as he shut the door.
There she was.
Elena.
She stood near the front steps, hands folded neatly, her pale dress fluttering faintly against the soft wind. Her face lit up the instant she saw him, and for Jason, the roar of engines and the heavy silence of the estate vanished. All that mattered was her smile.
"You made it," Elena said, her voice tinged with excitement.
Jason smiled faintly, brushing his hands over his jeans. "Of course I did."
He walked toward her. She met him halfway, her presence as disarming as ever. For a moment, he forgot the size of the house behind her, forgot the weight of what awaited him inside.
But the bodyguards didn't let him forget for long.
There were four of them this time. Standing along the steps, black suits, hands clasped in front, sunglasses reflecting Jason's figure. Unlike before, they didn't simply stare past him as if he were invisible. Their eyes—those sharp, silent eyes—tracked him deliberately.
Jason didn't flinch.
Not this time.
Something inside him had shifted. Maybe it was the Ferrari's roar still echoing in his chest, or the way Elena's gaze steadied him, or maybe it was the system itself whispering its silent encouragement in his mind. Whatever it was, he raised his chin and walked up the steps without breaking stride.
Elena's hand brushed his lightly, a gesture so simple yet so grounding.
"Come on," she said softly. "I want you to meet someone."
Jason nodded.
The foyer opened wide with golden chandeliers, marbled floors, and a grand staircase that seemed to stretch into another world. Every detail screamed wealth, history, and authority. Jason felt the weight of it all but didn't let it crush him. He had been crushed before—by bottles, by his past, by poverty. This was different. This was just another test.
Elena guided him through to the living room. The air was heavy with the faint smell of cedar wood and old leather. A tall man sat on one of the couches, posture sharp, suit immaculately tailored. His hair was peppered with gray, his face stern but unflinching.
Elena's father.
"Father," Elena began softly, "this is Jason."
The man's eyes lifted.
Jason had never seen eyes so calculating. They weren't hostile—not outright—but they carried the weight of judgment, as if in one glance he could strip Jason bare and measure every ounce of his worth.
"Well," the man finally said, voice deep and controlled. "So this is the young man I've been hearing about."
Jason stepped forward, offering his hand. "It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."
The man, whom Elena had whispered was named Don Arturo Veyra, hesitated briefly before shaking Jason's hand. His grip was firm, testing.
"You're the mechanic, yes?" Arturo asked, the word spoken like something sharp, almost distasteful.
Jason held his gaze. "Yes, sir. That's what I do."
Arturo leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. His lips pressed in a thin line. "Elena has spoken about you at length. I expected…" His eyes flicked up and down Jason's simple attire, his calloused hands. "…something else."
Jason didn't falter, though his chest tightened.
[System Analysis Active.]
Subject: Arturo Veyra. Traits Detected: Stern, traditional, values strength of character, loyalty, confidence, and honesty. Primary dislike: pretenders, arrogance without proof, weakness in resolve. He respects skill—mechanical, intellectual, or physical—but despises men who chase wealth without backbone.
Jason exhaled quietly. Good. This wasn't about money. It was about standing firm.
With a calm nod, Jason said, "I don't have much, sir. But what I have, I earn. And what I promise, I keep."
Arturo's eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for Jason to notice.
"Confident words," the older man said. "But words are cheap. It is easy to say one is loyal or strong. Harder to prove."
Jason's shoulders stayed square. "Then let my actions prove me. I don't pretend to be anything more than what I am. I work. I fight. I stand."
For a moment, silence. The kind that stretches and tests.
Then Elena slid closer to Jason, her voice soft but full of determination. "Father… you've always told me happiness matters. That wealth without peace is emptiness. Jason makes me happy. He listens to me, he treats me with respect, and he doesn't flatter me for what I have. Please…" She tilted her head, her tone becoming pleading, the kind of tone Jason suspected no one else had ever used with Don Arturo. "Please, just see him the way I do."
Arturo's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked between his daughter and Jason. Something in his eyes softened—barely, but enough.
He exhaled, leaning back in his seat. "Elena… you know the words I like to hear."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I want a man who gives me peace, not headaches. A man who will be beside me, not beneath me, not above me. Just… beside me."
Arturo closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again with a sigh. "If this is your choice, I will not stand in the way. But," his gaze locked onto Jason, sharp again, "you will show me that you are not wasting her time. Mechanics, Ferraris… these things mean little. Show me you have more."
Jason inclined his head, his voice steady. "I will."
Elena smiled brightly, slipping her arm into Jason's, almost as if to seal the moment. "Thank you, Father. That's all I needed to hear."
Arturo waved them off with a dismissive hand, though the faintest curl of a smile lingered in his expression.
Elena tugged Jason toward the dining room, her excitement almost bubbling over. "See? I told you it would be fine. He's stubborn, yes, but he listens when I mean it."
Jason allowed himself the smallest chuckle. "He's… intimidating."
She squeezed his arm. "But you weren't afraid."
The dining room stretched long and elegant, the table lined with polished silverware and crystal glasses. Chefs moved gracefully, setting plates and uncorking bottles of wine. The air smelled of rosemary, roasted meat, and fresh bread.
Jason was about to sit when Elena pulled him gently. "Wait. I made something for you."
Jason blinked. "You… cooked?"
Elena nodded proudly. "Yes. Not everything," she admitted with a giggle, glancing at the chefs. "But I wanted to. For you."
She set down a plate herself, sliding it in front of him. It wasn't grand or overly complicated—just pasta with a creamy sauce, sprinkled with herbs. But the fact that she had made it herself, in this massive house with servants and chefs at her disposal, hit Jason harder than any luxury meal could.
As they sat, Elena leaned closer than usual, her hand brushing his. Her eyes gleamed with mischief and joy, her voice spilling words as though she couldn't contain them.
"I was so nervous this morning, thinking he wouldn't like you. But you did so well. Did you see the way he looked at you? He respects you more now, I can tell. And the way you spoke, Jason, you were so calm—I was proud of you. I really was. And—oh!—the Ferrari! I still can't believe you came with it. You looked amazing driving in. Everyone was watching, I promise you."
Jason smiled, letting her words wash over him. She was glowing, almost like a child with a secret too big to hold.
The chefs returned, placing wine glasses gently before them. One of them poured, the liquid swirling rich and dark. Elena ignored it for now, her attention fixed entirely on Jason.
Her fingers slipped beneath the table, brushing lightly against his hand before curling around it. "This is perfect," she whispered.
And for a fleeting moment, Jason believed it too.