Chapter 153
Chapter 153:
Sal wiped his hands on a rag. “So you want a tank dressed up as a classic convertible p>
“Exactly,” Dallas said. “And install the AI interface. The new prototype p>
“The one with your voice?” Azalea recoiled with a look of pure horror. “That is so cringe, Daddy p>
Dallas ignored her. “Get it done by tomorrow p>
On Wednesday morning, Azalea called Eliza down to the street outside The Aurelia, her voice breathless over the phone.
“You have to come see! It’s a miracle p>
Eliza grabbed her coat, hailed a cab, and made her way down, half-expecting a traffic accident or a celebrity sighting.
Instead, she found Azalea posed on the hood of a bright pink Porsche 911 — obnoxious and absolutely perfect for her.
𝘛𝘩е 𝗯es𝘵 r𝗲𝘷𝘪𝘦𝗐𝘀 𝗼𝘯
“Subtle,” Eliza laughed, shielding her eyes from the glare.
“I know, right? But look at this.” Azalea hopped off the hood and pointed to the car parked directly behind it.
It was a vintage convertible — a Mercedes SL type, painted a soft, creamy white. It had clean classic lines, a canvas top, and the kind of worn beauty that suggested a long and well-traveled life. There was a small dent near the rear license plate.
“It was a bundle deal,” Azalea said, her eyes wide with practised innocence. “The collector wanted to clear garage space for his Ferraris. He said if I bought the Porsche, I had to take this old thing too. Literally for a dollar p>
Eliza walked a slow circle around the car, running her hand along the bodywork. It was beautiful in a quiet, understated way.
“I can’t drive two cars,” Azalea pressed on, her words coming faster now. “You have to take it. Or I’ll have to sell it for scrap metal. That would be a crime against vintage aesthetics, Eliza p>
“Azalea, you are a terrible liar,” Eliza said. But the metal under her palm felt solid. Reassuring.
“How much p>
“You pay for gas and insurance,” Azalea negotiated. “Consider it a long-term loan. Indefinite p>
Eliza opened the door and lowered herself into the driver’s seat.
It adjusted automatically — sliding forward, tilting back — fitting itself to her frame with uncanny precision. She ran her hand over the steering wheel. It was warm. Heated.
Then she noticed the leather of the seats. It wasn’t old, cracked vinyl. It was buttery soft, full-grain Italian leather — the exact grain she had admired in an Architectural Digest magazine weeks ago, sitting in Dallas’s office.
“This feels… custom,” Eliza murmured.
“It’s just… ergonomic,” Azalea said, visibly perspiring. “German engineering, you know p>
Eliza turned the key. The engine didn’t cough or sputter the way an old car should. It purred — a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and spoke of something far more powerful than the body let on.
“It drives like a dream,” Eliza admitted.
“Take it for a spin!” Azalea urged, practically pushing the door shut behind her.