Sparks Of Disdain

The city hummed quietly the next morning, but Christiana’s thoughts were louder than ever. She replayed the scene from the night before—the stranger on the motorcycle, the way he had opened her hood with such confidence, the rough timbre of his voice when he told her her wealth meant nothing to a broken car. She hated herself for thinking about it.

Why am I even remembering him? she scoffed silently, fixing her hair in the gilded mirror. He’s just a mechanic—someone I’ll never see again.

But fate rarely listens to human reasoning.

Later that afternoon, Christiana’s father insisted she take her car to a garage for a full inspection. It was, as usual, less about the car and more about maintaining appearances. “The Jade name cannot afford to be stranded by the roadside,” he declared, his tone heavy with pride.

Reluctantly, Christiana agreed. She drove into the city, her polished car gleaming like a jewel among the dust and smoke. When she pulled into the nearest garage, her stomach dropped.

It was the same garage. His garage.

Paul Mike was there, bent over a car engine, his shirt rolled up, arms flexed under the weight of his work. Sweat dotted his brow, but his movements were precise, steady, practiced. He looked up when he heard the smooth purr of her luxury car, his eyes flicking with recognition.

“You again,” he muttered under his breath, then louder: “What’s the problem this time, princess?”

Christiana stiffened, bristling at the nickname. “Don’t call me that. Just… check the car. I don’t have time for small talk.”

Paul straightened, wiping his hands on a rag, and smirked. “Seems like that’s all you ever have—time and money. The rest of us don’t get that luxury.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t come here for your opinions. Just do your job.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp but not cruel. Then, with a shrug, he opened the hood. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

The words dripped with sarcasm, and Christiana’s cheeks burned—not from shame, but from the infuriating fact that he wasn’t intimidated by her. Every man in her world bent to her surname, her father’s power. But this man? He looked at her like she was no more special than the grease-stained rag in his hand.

Still, as Paul worked, Christiana’s eyes betrayed her. She watched the way his hands moved—rough, yes, but capable. She noticed the focus in his eyes, the slight crease in his brow, the way he seemed to pour himself completely into fixing what was broken.

Why does he seem so sure of himself? she thought. Why does he look at me like… like he sees through me?

Paul, on the other hand, found her arrogance both irritating and oddly fascinating. She was rude, entitled, and clearly thought she was too good to be standing in his garage. Yet behind the sharp words and lifted chin, he caught glimpses of something else—a flicker of curiosity, even vulnerability, though she’d never admit it.

When he finished, he closed the hood and leaned casually against the car. “There. You’re good to go.”

Christiana raised an eyebrow. “How much?”

Paul shrugged. “Forget it. Consider it a gift from the mechanic you think is beneath you.”

Her eyes flashed. “I never said you were beneath me.”

He leaned closer, voice low, eyes steady. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Christiana’s chest rose and fell quickly, and she hated the way his words cut through her defenses. She wanted to say something, anything, to put him back in his place—but the words refused to come.

Instead, she grabbed her keys and slid into the driver’s seat, her movements sharp. “Thank you,” she muttered, the words more forced than genuine.

Paul watched her drive away, the corners of his lips tugging into a faint, amused smile. She was spoiled, yes. Arrogant, absolutely. But there was something about her—something that made her linger in his thoughts longer than he cared to admit.

And as Christiana sped back toward her mansion, she told herself she’d forget him, erase the smug look on his face from her memory. But deep inside, she knew it was a lie. His voice, his confidence, the way he didn’t bow to her world—it would haunt her, whether she wanted it to or not.

Two hearts, colliding with sparks—not of tenderness, but of disdain. Yet within those sparks lay the first hint of a flame neither could extinguish.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***