Chapter 148: Chapter 148: Civilian Packaging

At least he was honest.

Sylvia stood there for one more second, staring at the car like sheer disbelief might somehow transform it into something ordinary. It did not. It remained a glossy black threat to subtlety, sleek enough to belong in a private collector’s vault and expensive enough to probably have its own security detail.

Then she looked at Nero again.

She exhaled through her nose.

“No,” Sylvia repeated, more to herself than him. “Absolutely not.”

One pale brow lifted.

She pointed at the car. “You are not driving me anywhere public in that.”

Nero glanced once at the vehicle, then back at her. “It’s just a car.”

“It is not just a car. It is a headline with tires.”

His mouth moved faintly.

Sylvia folded her arms. “If we stop somewhere in that thing, every camera within a five-kilometer radius will wake up, and I am too tired to become a mysterious woman seen with Sahan prince after the imperial engagement gala.”

“That would be an irritating headline,” Nero said.

“That would be an irritating life.”

He seemed to consider that and then, without argument, reached into his pocket, unlocked his phone, and held it out to her.

Sylvia blinked. “What?”

“Put in your address.”

She took it automatically, then looked down at the device and nearly snorted.

Of course even his phone looked expensive. Sleek black case, custom interface, obviously belonging to someone whose version of daily inconvenience was vastly different from hers.

“You’re just surrendering navigation to me?”

“You’re the one with a plan,” Nero said.

That was fair.

Sylvia opened the map app and started typing. “New plan,” she said. “You drive me to my apartment, and I’ll treat you to wings and fries there. Maybe soda, if you behave.”

That got a clearer curve from his mouth this time. Not much, but enough to prove he was still a living person under the restraint and the bad mood.

“Treat me,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Sylvia said. “Out of pity.”

He opened the passenger door for her.

“Dangerous wording,” he said mildly.

Sylvia climbed in anyway. “You’ll survive.”

The interior was, infuriatingly, even nicer than it had looked from the outside. Dark leather, clean lines, subtle lighting, everything polished to within an inch of moral offense. It smelled expensive too, like that impossible clean richness of money and craftsmanship and people who had never once bought a car for purely functional reasons.

Sylvia buckled in and continued entering her address.

Nero rounded the hood and got in behind the wheel. The engine came alive with a smooth, low purr that sounded like an angel had calibrated the engine.

She glanced over just as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, posture loose, eyes forward.

Even driving, he looked royal. That was the problem. The clothes had changed. The man had not.

She handed him his phone back. “There. And before you say anything, yes, I know the neighborhood is normal.”

Nero took the phone, mounted it to the dash, and glanced at the route. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You were thinking something.”

“I’m always thinking something.”

Sylvia stared at him for a beat. “That was a very unfair answer.”

That earned another brief flicker of amusement.

The car pulled out of the private bay in one smooth motion, gates opening ahead of them as if even architecture knew who he was.

Sylvia watched the palace disappear behind them in polished light and gold and security cameras and enough tension to choke a city.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

The silence was not awkward. It was just tired.

Then Sylvia shifted in her seat and muttered, “You know what the worst part is?”

Nero kept his attention on the road. “There are several contenders.”

She turned to him. “I still didn’t meet Empress Minerva.”

That got a small sideways glance.

“You were at a royal engagement gala,” Nero said. “And somehow missed my aunt entirely.”

“Yes,” Sylvia said. “Which feels statistically impossible.”

“Aunt Minerva is selective.”

Sylvia let out a laugh. “Selective? That’s a diplomatic word.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

The city lights slid across the windshield, painting brief gold and white reflections over his face. In motion, with one hand resting easy on the wheel and the other near the gear control, Nero looked calmer. Not fine. Just farther from immediate violence.

That was probably the best anyone could ask for.

Sylvia settled back in her seat and tugged her coat more comfortably around herself. “Anyway. Apartment. Wings. Fries. Soda. No public stop. No spectacle. No one kneeling in front of your limited-edition ego machine.”

Nero’s mouth twitched. “You’re very hostile toward my car.”

“I’m hostile toward the concept of being seen in it.”

“You said you were treating me.”

“I am. With food. Not with public scandal.”

That time he almost laughed.

The car turned onto a broader avenue, leaving the palace district behind for the more lived-in glow of Alamina at night. Shops still lit. Traffic was thinning but not gone. Apartment towers with half their windows glowing warm and half gone dark. The city looked more honest here. Less curated.

Sylvia liked that.

She reached into her coat pocket for her own phone and started opening a delivery app.

Nero noticed. “You’re ordering already?”

“I know better than to wait until we arrive. Also, if I leave it to you, you’ll probably say something infuriatingly simple like ’whatever you want,’ and then I’ll have to make all the decisions.”

“I was going to say extra fries.”

Sylvia paused and looked at him.

He kept driving, perfectly composed.

She narrowed her eyes. “That is the first relatable thing you’ve said all evening.”

“I’ve said several relatable things.”

“No,” Sylvia said. “You’ve said several well-worded royal things. That was the first one that sounded human.”

He smiled without taking his eyes from the road.

She went back to her phone. “Fine. Extra fries. How many wings and what kind of soda?”

“Three big menus. Any soda.”

Sylvia looked up from the screen. “Three?”

Nero kept one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his expression composed in that infuriatingly calm manner that made it impossible to tell whether he was serious or simply incapable of sounding anything other than deliberate.

“Yes.”

Sylvia stared at him for a beat, then let her eyes travel over him properly.

The leather jacket did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was enormous. Seven feet five inches of royal bad mood and muscle packed into a car worth more than morality. Of course he wanted three menus. He probably needed three menus just to qualify as fed.

She looked back at the phone. “Right. Sorry. I forgot you’re built like a military program.”

That earned the faintest curve from his mouth.

“I need protein,” Nero said.

Sylvia snorted. “Fine. Three big menus. Extra wings. Extra fries. You’re large enough that I feel morally obligated to prevent nutritional collapse.”

“That seems wise.”

“Do you want spicy?”

“Yes.”

“How spicy?”

Nero thought about it for half a second. “Enough to matter.”

Sylvia gave him a long look. “You even order food like you’re threatening a small nation.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

“I’m allowed to be dramatic. I’m ordering food for a seven-foot-five prince in a leather jacket after fleeing an engagement gala.”

That time his mouth curved a little more visibly.

Good. Better than before. Less ballroom rage. More functional person.

Sylvia added two large spicy menus, one medium, extra fries, and more wings than she would normally classify as reasonable. Then she added several bottles of soda, because a man that size could probably empty one in three swallows and still look politely under-supplied.

“There,” she said. “If you’re still hungry after this, I’m handing you a rotisserie chicken and wishing you luck.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She glanced at him again, broad shoulders filling the driver’s seat in a way that made the limited-edition car look suddenly less oversized than it had a moment ago.

“Actually,” Sylvia said, “I take it back. Three menus isn’t excessive. Three menus is just science.”

Nero’s violet eyes flicked toward her briefly. “Glad we understand each other.”

Sylvia leaned back with her phone in hand. “I understand that feeding you appears to require planning, logistics, and possibly a budget category.”

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