The poor student got into the wrong car, unaware that it belonged to a billionaire
Helena was at her limit. Two consecutive shifts in the cafeteria, three final exams for her Business Administration degree, and barely four hours of sleep in two days. When she saw the black car parked in front of the National Autonomous University of Mexico library at 11 p.m., she simply got in without checking the license plate
The back seat was comfortable. Too comfortable, really—too luxurious for an ordinary Uber—but she was too exhausted to question it. She closed her eyes for just a second….
And he woke up to a funny male voice.
—Do you always invade other people’s cars, or am I the lucky one today?
Helena opened her eyes.
A man was sitting next to her.
Expensive suit, magazine-cover-worthy face, perfectly tousled dark hair, and a sarcastic smile on his lips. He definitely wasn’t a ride-hailing driver.
When he looked around, he noticed a built-in minibar.
Who has a minibar in their car?
—And you snored for twenty minutes —he added.
At that moment, he wanted to disappear.
The discovery and the proposal
I should have checked the license plate. That’s the detail that haunts me the most when I think about what happened.
Two consecutive shifts at the cafeteria, three final exams in my degree, four hours of sleep in two days. She functioned on autopilot, fueled by willpower and liters of cheap coffee.
When I saw the black car in front of the UNAM library at 11:00 p.m., I thought it was my Uber.
It was black. It was parked. I was exhausted.
I opened the back door and walked in as if I were coming home.
The seat was incredibly soft. Pure luxury.
But my tired mind failed to grasp the silent warning.
I sank into the leather, closed my eyes for a second…
And it was the best dream I’d had in weeks.
Until a deep, clearly amused voice cut through my unconsciousness:
—Do you usually break into other people’s cars or am I special?
I opened my eyes with a start. Panic coursed through my body as I realized I wasn’t alone.
I could feel her presence. Her expensive perfume—probably more expensive than my rent in the Narvarte neighborhood.
Tailor-made suit. That calculated disorder that rich men master with ease.
And the face…
Defined jawline. Dark eyes analyzing me with curiosity. A smile that irritated me… and disarmed me at the same time
—I… sorry. I thought it was my Uber.
—Technically, that’s what you did. And you snored for twenty minutes.
—I don’t snore.
—Yes, you do. A little. It was… adorable.
I looked around again
Touchscreen. Fine wood finishes. Minibar.
—You’re not an Uber driver…
—Definitely not.
He settled in naturally.
—I’m Gabriel Albuquerque. And this is my car. The one you hijacked to take a nap
The name meant nothing to me at the time. But the confidence with which she pronounced it made it clear that I should say something.
He was someone important.
Very rich
—I’m so sorry. I worked all day, studied all night… I’m getting off now.
When I grabbed the handle, he asked:
—It’s almost 11:30. Where in the city do you live?
