The heir and the hustler

Elliot

I’m not sure what it is about nights like this that make me want to disappear. Maybe it's the low hum of the city beneath me, the way the lights reflect off the glass and steel, creating a kind of illusion. Everything looks pristine and contained from this high up. Orderly. Perfect. But that’s not how it feels down there—at least, I don’t think it is.

“Elliot, are you even listening?” My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and insistent. I turn to face him, plastering on the polite smile I’ve perfected over years of family gatherings, charity events, and business dinners.

“Yes, of course,” I say, nodding along even though I’ve tuned out his lecture about “responsibility” and “image” and “the importance of the Moreau name.” It’s always the same speech, with minor adjustments depending on the occasion. Tonight, it’s about the need to form alliances, to think about the family business. To solidify my place within it.

As he drones on, I catch my reflection in the massive window behind him—a ghostly figure framed against the lights of the city, trapped within this immaculate world. I feel like I’m standing in a gilded cage. It’s hard to shake the feeling that I’m just another one of the artifacts my family collects, positioned here to look polished and presentable, to say the right things and make the right impressions.

But tonight, I can’t take it. I need out, just for a little while.

When I excuse myself, muttering something about “getting some fresh air,” I know my parents aren’t really listening. They nod absentmindedly, too busy impressing their guests to care about my fleeting presence.

Outside, I get into my car a sleek, black sedan that practically gleams under the city lights. I take a deep breath, letting the leather and silence of the car surround me. It’s a cocoon, a temporary escape from the suffocating expectations inside that penthouse. I start the engine, not caring where I’m headed, only knowing that I need to go.

But life has a way of mocking you when you least expect it.

A few miles out, as I drive through streets I’ve barely ever visited, the car sputters and jerks, and I realize with a sinking feeling that something’s wrong. Moments later, the engine cuts out entirely, leaving me stranded on a dark, unfamiliar street.

I step out of the car and look around. The neighborhood is different from any place I usually find myself—gritty, quiet, with a palpable sense of wear that clings to everything. Cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights, buildings that have seen better days. This isn’t my world. Not even close. And yet, there’s something strangely compelling about it, something raw and unpolished that feels more alive than the sterile luxury I’m used to.

I check my phone, but of course, there’s no signal here. The universe’s little way of reminding me that I’m out of my depth. Just when I’m about to resign myself to waiting for who-knows-how-long, I see someone walking toward me—a guy about my age, wearing a jacket that’s clearly seen too many winters. He moves with a kind of confidence, a steadiness that seems almost out of place in these surroundings.

As he gets closer, I notice his dark hair, the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes flick over me with a mixture of curiosity and caution. He stops a few feet away, studying me with a raised eyebrow, and I can’t help but feel like I’m under a microscope. He’s probably wondering what a guy like me is doing in a place like this.

“Need some help?” he asks, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

Luca

I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like he looks like someone who wants help from a guy like me. I can tell just by looking at him that he’s out of his element—a sleek car, designer clothes, and this air of… I don’t know, detachment? Like he’s observing everything but not really a part of it.

People like him don’t usually end up in neighborhoods like this. He’s probably lost, or maybe he thinks he’s here on some grand adventure, wanting to “see how the other half lives.” But as I stand there, waiting for him to respond, I realize there’s something different in his eyes. He doesn’t look scared or dismissive; he just looks… tired. Like he’s carrying a weight he can’t set down.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally says, scratching the back of his neck. “My car just… stopped. I don’t really know what’s wrong with it.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he doesn’t know what’s wrong with it. Guys like him probably have people to handle all that stuff for them. But something about his voice, the way he says it, makes me think he’s actually embarrassed. Like he wishes he could fix it himself but just doesn’t know how.

I sigh, stepping closer to the car. “Pop the hood. I’ll take a look.”

He blinks, looking a little surprised, but he does as I say. As I start examining the engine, I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It’s a little unnerving, having someone so… clean cut standing there, observing me like I’m some kind of curiosity.

“Thanks,” he says quietly after a minute, and I glance up to see him studying me, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure me out.

“No problem,” I mutter, focusing back on the engine. It doesn’t take long to spot the issue a loose connection. It’s a simple fix, one he probably could’ve figured out if he’d bothered to look. But I guess people like him don’t have to worry about stuff like that.

Once I get the car running again, he looks at me with genuine gratitude, and I feel this weird pull. There’s something vulnerable in his expression, something I don’t usually see in guys who roll through here in cars like his. It’s almost… refreshing.

“So, do I owe you anything?” he asks, reaching into his pocket, and just like that, the moment’s gone. Of course he thinks I did this for money.

“No, you don’t owe me anything,” I say, a little sharper than I meant to. I turn to walk away, but I can feel his eyes on me, lingering.

“Wait,” he calls out, and I stop, reluctantly.

“What?” I ask, turning to face him.

“Thanks again,” he says, his voice softer this time. There’s a sincerity there that catches me off guard.

I give him a curt nod. “Just… stay out of trouble,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to add that. Maybe it’s because he looks like he doesn’t belong in this part of town. Or maybe it’s because a part of me wonders if I’ll see him again, though I know it’s unlikely.

As I walk away, I can’t shake the feeling that something strange just happened. Like the universe shifted for a moment, bringing two people from different worlds into the same orbit. It’s a ridiculous thought, one I try to push aside. After all, he’ll go back to his polished penthouse, and I’ll go back to my apartment that barely has enough heat. That’s just the way things are.

But still… I can’t help glancing back, just onc

e, to see if he’s still standing there.

And, of course, he is.