Share
MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Secret Affair
Scenario:this story is about business and betrayal and schemes and theft and fights and lawsuits and charity and lies and sex and nudity and adultery and bdsm and power and government and politics and my name is mohamed abdi i am a car brand owner and car company owner and my companys name is revolt and i am 24 years old and i am muscular and i have tattoos and dark skin and i became the richest man on the planet by inventing cars that drives on water and the car name brand is Revolt Motors and the cars runs on water and can drive for long hours and then be filled with water in the fuel tank and my father abdinur abdi he is 49 years old and he has dark skin and my mother layla abdi she has dark skin and my sister munira abdi is 18 years old and she has dark skin and my brother mahad abdi is 23 years old and he has dark skin and my parents didnt think i would be successful at anything but i proved them wrong and i now have 600 billion dollars in my bank account and the money is growing fast and my rival is the south african white 400 billion dollar tesla car brand and company owner named elon musk and he is 53 years old but he looks younger and he has 10 adult and teen and kids children with different wives
Create my version of this story
Mohamed Abdi
He is the founder of Revolt Motors, a company that revolutionized the automotive industry by creating cars that run on water. He is ambitious, determined, and wealthy. Mohamed grew up in a poor family but earned his fortune through his innovative business. He became the richest man in the world at the age of 24. He has a reputation for being ruthless in business, having taken down his rival, Elon Musk. He is involved in various controversies, including a highprofile affair with a married woman and engaging in BDSM activities.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed Abdi's father and the patriarch of the family. He is traditional, conservative, and occasionally stubborn. Abdinur worked as a mechanic until Mohamed's success transformed their lives. He initially doubted Mohamed's capabilities but later acknowledged his son's genius. His relationship with Mohamed evolved from disapproval to admiration as the young man's fortunes grew exponentially.
Elon Musk
He is the founder of Tesla, Inc., competing with Mohamed Abdi's Revolt Motors. He is successful, competitive, and controversial. Elon Musk made his fortune with PayPal, Internet Relay Company, and later Tesla. He holds the record for the most expensive car ever sold, the Strumegger Bugatti Hussler for 10 million dollars. His personal life includes multiple marriages and numerous children. Musk engaged in a public feud with Mohamed Abdi over business tactics and technological innovations.
My name is Mohamed Abdi.
I am the owner of a car brand and company called Revolt.
I am 24 years old.
I have dark skin, tattoos, and a muscular body.
I was born in a poor family with my parents and a sibling.
My mom and dad are still married after 25 years.
I have a sister named Munira who is 18 years old and a brother named Mahad who is 23 years old.
We are all dark-skinned.
None of my parents thought I would be successful at anything.
But I proved them wrong.
When I was 18 years old, I invented something that changed the world.
I created cars that drive on water, which no one else was able to do before.
Then I started my company called Revolt Motors, where I produced those cars.
The cars run for long hours and then need to be filled up with water in the fuel tank just like gasoline.
That invention made me grow rich fast.
Within two years, I became the richest man on the planet with over 600 billion dollars in my bank account.
My closest rival is Elon Musk, the owner of Tesla Inc., who has around 400 billion dollars.
He is a South African white man and is 53 years old, but he looks younger than his age.
I walk through the busy hallways of my company headquarters in Los Angeles.
Revolt Motors is a global company with factories, dealerships, and showrooms all over the world.
I stride through the hallways, watching as my employees run between the different departments.
The orders department is busy with calls from all over the world, taking orders for my cars.
I walk to the sales department and look at the sales dashboard.
The numbers are high as usual.
Revolt Motors is outselling Tesla, Toyota, Ford, and all other car brands in the world.
My phone buzzes with notifications of how much I earned in the last 5 seconds.
It's $20,000.
That means that I earn $4,000 every second.
I call a meeting with my sales team to tell them how well they're doing and to give them new targets.
They leave after the meeting and I stay behind to watch the world map on the wall.
It shows all the countries where Revolt Motors has sold cars in real-time.
My assistant, Sarah, calls me.
"Sir, I have some news," she says.
"What is it?"
I ask.
"Elon Musk wants to meet with you. He wants to merge Tesla with Revolt Motors," she says.
"What? Why?"
I ask.
"He didn't say. He wants to meet at a restaurant in Los Angeles and talk about it," she says.
"Tell him I'm not interested in meeting with him. Tell him that I'm not interested in merging Tesla with Revolt Motors," I say.
"Okay, sir," she says and hangs up.
I remember the day six years ago when I went to the Tesla building in California and pitched my water fuel idea to Elon Musk and his team.
They laughed at me and told me that I was wasting their time.
They told me that a poor black boy like me couldn't come up with something that could change the world.
They told me that I should go back to school and get an education before coming up with such ideas. They threw me out of their building and called security on me.
As I stand there, lost in thought, Sarah re-enters the room with a hesitant look.
"Sir, Elon Musk is here at the office," she says quietly.
"What? How did he get in?" I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.
I pause at my mahogany desk, straightening my Armani suit.
I look at the security cameras and see him waiting in the lobby.
Tesla stock dropped 40% last quarter while Revolt Motors grew 80%.
I watch through the glass walls as Sarah escorts him up.
He's not his usual confident self.
He's wearing a plain black t-shirt, no designer labels.
When they reach my office door, I press the intercom.
"Let him in."
He enters alone, holding a thick folder labeled 'Merger Proposal.'
His hands shake slightly as he approaches my desk.
I remain seated, making him stand there like I once stood in his lobby.
I lean back in my leather chair, steepling my fingers.
The chair creaks softly.
He stands there, hesitating to take the seat across from me.
The folder crinkles in his tight grip.
I can see sweat on his brow.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, I see his reflection in the glass.
His jaw clenches and unclenches.
That's the same jaw that smiled when security dragged me out six years ago.
Sarah stands by the door, tablet ready to take notes.
I tap my fingers on the polished desk three times.
Each sound makes him flinch.
Finally, I extend my hand toward the chair across from me.
My gold Revolt Motors ring catches the light from the window.
"Sit," I say, my voice steady and unwavering.
He lowers himself into the seat, his expensive suit wrinkling.
The leather chair creaks under his weight.
He places the folder on my glass desk and opens it.
"Do you remember me?"
I ask him, my voice firm.
He looks at me, his face pale.
"Yes, I do," he replies.
"Six years ago, I came to Tesla with an idea for a car that runs on water. You and your team laughed at me. You told me I was wasting your time. You told me that a poor black boy from the ghetto couldn't change the world. You called security on me and had them throw me out."
His face grows paler as I speak.
He looks like he's about to collapse.
"I remember," he says, his voice shaking.
"Well, now I'm the richest man in the world. My company is worth more than yours. I have over 600 billion dollars in my bank account. You have 400 billion. I earn more than you in one second than you earn in one day."
He tries to interrupt me, but I cut him off.
"I don't care about your merger proposal," I say, standing up from my chair.
I walk over to the window and stare out at the city below.
The sun glints off the glass towers.
I can see people moving on the sidewalks like ants.
The sounds of the city drift up through the open window—cars honking, people talking, sirens blaring in the distance.
I lean against my polished mahogany desk, studying Musk's face.
Sweat beads on his forehead.
His fingers tremble slightly on the merger documents.
The afternoon sun streams through my floor-to-ceiling windows, casting harsh shadows across his features as he shifts uncomfortably in the Italian leather chair.
My assistant Sarah enters silently, carrying a tray with two glasses of water.
She places one in front of me and one in front of Musk without a word.
Musk reaches for his glass immediately, taking a long drink.
The irony isn't lost on me—water, the very resource he once mocked, now powers my empire.
I notice dark circles under his eyes and a slight dishevelment to his usually pristine appearance.
I take a sip from my glass, savoring the moment before speaking again.
I lean back in my leather chair, maintaining eye contact with Musk as I push the stack of papers across my desk.
The documents slide smoothly until they bump against his trembling hands.
His eyes dart between the papers and my face, searching for any sign of reconsideration.
The golden "R" of Revolt Motors gleams on my cufflinks as I deliberately shake my head once, then twice.
Musk's shoulders slump further, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple.
He fumbles to gather the papers, dropping several pages onto the floor.
When he bends to retrieve them, I press the intercom button.
"Security, please escort Mr. Musk out," I say calmly.
Musk lurches up suddenly, knocking his chair backward with a loud clatter.
His face contorts as he grabs the edge of my desk, leaning forward desperately.
"Please, Mohamed, I was wrong about you," he begs, his voice cracking.
"I judged you unfairly."
I remain seated, unmoved by his display.
"You didn't believe in the possible because you couldn't see past my skin color," I state coldly.
Two security guards enter the room, gripping Musk's arms.
As they drag him toward the door, my head of security, Marcus, steps close to Musk's ear.
"Mr. Musk, you're no longer welcome here," Marcus says firmly.
Musk struggles against the guards, but they're too strong.
As they lead him out, I watch through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.
Below, they cross the lobby, causing a stir among the employees.
Heads turn, and phones are discreetly raised to record the scene.
Musk's expensive suit is now wrinkled, his posture defeated.
I press the intercom again.
"Sarah, send out a company-wide memo. Let everyone know that Revolt Motors remains committed to innovation and independence. We will not be swayed by external pressures."
I hear her typing away in her adjacent office before she responds.
"Yes, sir."
I turn my attention back to the view outside.
The security team escorts Musk toward the glass doors leading out of the building.
As they reach the entrance, I notice a few reporters waiting outside, their cameras at the ready.
Musk's face contorts in a mix of anger and humiliation as he realizes his exit will be witnessed by the media. I run my fingers over the smooth surface of my desk, made from African blackwood—a wood native to my homeland.
I had chosen this material specifically when furnishing this office after proving everyone wrong and securing my place as CEO of Revolt Motors.
It serves as a reminder of where I come from and how far I've come.
The elevator doors close on Musk's devastated expression as Marcus stands beside him, maintaining his professional yet intimidating stance.
I pour whiskey from one of the three glass decanters into a glass, the liquid glugging softly.
Standing by the window, I sip the whiskey, its warmth spreading through me as I gaze over the cityscape of Los Angeles.
The city stretches out before me, a sprawling tapestry of lights and possibilities.
My mind replays the scene that just unfolded in my office—the defeat of Elon Musk, a man who once underestimated me because of my skin color.
I take another sip of the whiskey, relishing the taste of victory.
The lights in the skyline flicker like stars, mirroring the satisfaction in my eyes.
I sit back down at my desk, the whiskey glass still in my hand.
My thoughts drift to the day's events—the merger proposal, the tension in the room, and the ultimate rejection of Musk's offer.
It's a reminder that I've built something remarkable here at Revolt Motors, and no one will take that away from me.
I open my laptop and check the latest sales figures for our electric cars.
The numbers are impressive, solidifying our position as market leaders.
My fingers move over the keyboard as I update our company strategy to stay ahead of our competitors.
The office is quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioning.
I lean back in my chair, feeling a surge of pride.
I've proven everyone wrong, and now I'm living proof that success knows no boundaries of skin color or background.
I sit at my desk, reviewing the latest sales reports.
The numbers are staggering—Revolt water-fuel vehicles are selling out globally, from bustling city showrooms to remote island dealerships.
I pick up my phone and dial the number of my production manager.
"Hello, Mr. Mohamed," his voice comes through the line.
"The demand for our vehicles is higher than ever," I tell him.
"Increase production by 20% to meet the demand."
"Yes, sir," he responds, and I hang up.
As I place the phone back on its cradle, I feel the tension in my shoulders easing.
The success of Revolt Motors is undeniable.
I stand up and walk to the window, looking out at the city below.
The lights twinkle like stars, and a sense of satisfaction washes over me.
Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Sarah.
"Sir, there's a reporter here requesting an interview about today's events," she says.
I pause, considering the opportunity.
I sit back down at my desk and open my laptop.
The setting sun casts long shadows across the room as I type.
"Tell me more about the reporter," I say.
"She's from Forbes, sir. She's known for her hard-hitting profiles," Sarah responds.
I nod, intrigued.
"Send me her background."
A few moments later, an email arrives in my inbox.
I click on it and scan through the reporter's credentials.
She has a reputation for asking tough questions, but she also has a wide reach.
This could be an opportunity to showcase Revolt Motors' success and my own journey from rejection to triumph.
"Send her in," I instruct Sarah.
As I wait for the reporter to arrive, I take a sip of my whiskey, savoring the taste of victory.
The lights outside twinkle like diamonds, reflecting the sparkle in my eyes.
The door to my office opens, and Sarah walks in with a stack of papers in her hand.
"Sir, here are the details of the interview request," she says, placing them on my desk.
I glance over the documents, noting that the reporter wants to discuss today's confrontation with Musk and my rise to success despite facing racism and prejudice.
I run my fingers over the smooth surface of my African blackwood desk, contemplating how to frame this story.
"Schedule the interview for tomorrow morning," I tell Sarah. "And make sure it's held in the Revolt Motors showroom. I want her to see our latest models while we talk."
Sarah nods and exits my office with a smile on her face.
I pick up my platinum pen and sign the interview agreement with a flourish.
The door swings open, and the reporter strides in, her eyes sharp and inquisitive.
"Mr. Mohamed, thank you for seeing me on such short notice," she says, extending her hand.
I shake it firmly, meeting her gaze. "I believe stories like ours deserve to be told," I reply, gesturing for her to sit.
She nods, her eyes lighting up with interest.
I stand up and walk with her down the glass-walled corridor, my Italian leather shoes clicking against the marble floors.
The city lights twinkle below us as we make our way to the showroom.
"Revolt Motors has revolutionized transportation by creating engines that run solely on water," I explain, my voice echoing off the walls.
"We've disrupted the traditional fuel industry and made sustainable energy accessible to everyone."
The reporter scribbles furiously in her notebook as we approach the brushed steel doors of the showroom.
I pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation.
Then, with a flourish, I press my palm against the biometric scanner.
The doors slide open silently, revealing a room filled with sleek vehicles bathed in strategic spotlights.
The reporter gasps, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight before her.
In the center of the room stands our flagship model, the Revolt R1 sports car.
Its midnight blue paint glistens under the lights, and its curved lines seem to shimmer with power.
"How did you manage to keep this under wraps for so long?" she asks, her voice tinged with awe.
"Vision and a team that believes in it," I reply, pride swelling in my chest.
"And what about Musk? Was he ever a real threat?"
I settle into one of our showroom's leather chairs, facing the reporter.
She pulls out her recorder and sets it on the table between us.
The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the room.
The lights reflect off the polished surfaces of our vehicles, creating a dazzling display of innovation.
"Let's get straight to it," she says, leaning forward in her chair.
"What happened with Elon Musk yesterday?"
I pause for a moment, letting my gaze drift to the Revolt R1 standing regally in the center of the room.
The memory of Musk's desperate proposal still lingers in my mind.
I guide her to the R1, running my hand over its smooth surface.
"Six years ago, I stood in front of Elon Musk and his board at Tesla headquarters," I begin.
"I was 18 years old, fresh out of high school, and armed with nothing but a dream and a prototype."
The reporter's eyes widen with curiosity as she scribbles furiously in her notepad.
I continue, "I walked into that sleek, modern building, my heart pounding in my chest. The air was thick with skepticism as I presented my idea—a water-fuel engine that could revolutionize transportation."
Musk and his team had laughed at me, ridiculing my concept and questioning my credentials.
But I had refused to let their mockery deter me.
Instead, I had channeled their disbelief into fuel for my passion.
I recall the exact words of Musk: "You're just a young black kid from the ghetto. What do you know about technology?"
His condescending tone still echoes in my mind.
But I had remained steadfast, convinced that my idea could change the world.
The reporter's eyes are wide with surprise as she listens intently to my story.
She leans forward in her chair, her voice filled with determination.
"So, how did you respond to them? What made you believe in yourself?"
I smile wryly, remembering the fire that burned within me that day.
"I told them that they underestimated me," I reply, meeting her gaze.
"I said that I would prove them wrong and create something revolutionary." The reporter nods vigorously, her pen moving swiftly across her notepad.
"And then what happened?" she presses on.
I take a deep breath, reliving the moment when everything changed.
"I left Tesla headquarters that day with a newfound sense of purpose," I explain.
"I poured all my energy into developing the water-fuel engine. And six years later, Revolt Motors was born."
The reporter looks up from her notes, her eyes shining with admiration.
"That's incredible," she says softly.
"You turned their ridicule into a global empire."
I nod humbly, gesturing toward the sleek vehicles surrounding us in the showroom.
"Today, Revolt Motors is valued at $690 billion," I say proudly.
"We've disrupted the traditional fuel industry and made sustainable energy accessible to everyone."
The reporter's gaze follows mine to the Revolt R1 standing majestically in the center of the room.
"How did you feel when Musk approached you yesterday, after all these years?" she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.
I chuckle softly, shaking my head. "He wanted to partner up, but I told him that Revolt Motors doesn't need Tesla's shadow to shine."
Her eyes widen, and she leans in closer. "So, you turned him down?"
"Yes," I reply firmly. "I told him that our paths diverged long ago, and now we're leading the way on our own terms."
I lead the reporter to our flagship Revolt R1, its sleek midnight blue exterior gleaming under the showroom lights.
She runs her hand along the aerodynamic hood, admiring its curves.
"This is our latest model," I explain, opening the driver's door.
"It features a 0-60 in 2.5 seconds and a top speed of 225 miles per hour."
She slides into the leather seat, taking in the futuristic dashboard.
I point out the biometric scanner and gesture-controlled interface.
"The seats are made from recycled materials," I add, "and the interior is designed for maximum comfort and minimal waste."
The reporter's eyes widen as she takes in the cutting-edge technology.
"And how does it run on water?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.
I smile, pleased to share the innovative details.
"Our patented engine uses electrolysis to split water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen," I explain.
"The hydrogen is then used as fuel, producing only water vapor as exhaust."
She nods, impressed by the ingenuity.
"That's incredible," she says.
"How far can it travel on a single tank?"
"Up to 800 miles," I reply proudly.
"And with our network of water stations expanding globally, you'll never be far from a refill." The reporter looks at me with newfound respect, her eyes shining with admiration.
"You've truly revolutionized transportation," she says softly.
I smile humbly, knowing that this is just the beginning of Revolt Motors' impact on the world.
"Would you like to take it for a spin?" I ask, reaching into my pocket for the keys.
Her eyes light up with excitement as she nods eagerly.
"Absolutely, I've been dying to see how it handles," she replies, her enthusiasm palpable.
I hand her the keys, feeling a sense of pride as she starts the engine and the car hums to life.
As she pulls out of the showroom, I add, "Just wait until you feel the acceleration; it's like nothing you've ever experienced."
She slides into the passenger seat beside me, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Her eyes are wide with curiosity as she looks at the dashboard.
"Where's the fuel gauge?" she asks, scanning the futuristic display.
I point to a small screen on the center console, where a clear liquid level is visible.
"That's the fuel gauge," I explain.
"It shows the water level in the tank."
The reporter looks at me skeptically, her brow furrowed.
"But how does it run on water?" she presses on.
I lean forward, eager to share the innovative technology behind Revolt Motors' success.
"Our patented filtration system can process any type of water," I explain.
"Tap water, bottled water, even toilet water if necessary. It all gets converted into clean fuel."
To demonstrate, I pull out a half-empty water bottle from my suit pocket and pour it into the fuel port on the dashboard.
The reporter watches in amazement as the liquid flows into the system.
A few seconds later, the dashboard display flickers to life, showing the instant conversion of water into fuel. "That's incredible," she breathes, her eyes wide with wonder.
"How does it work?"
I smile proudly, knowing that our technology has revolutionized transportation forever.
"The nano-filter uses advanced membranes to purify contaminated water in seconds," I explain.
"It removes impurities and minerals, producing clean fuel that powers our engines."
The reporter nods in awe, her gaze fixed on the dashboard display.
"And what about efficiency?" she asks, her voice filled with curiosity.
"How much energy does it take to convert water into fuel?"
I lean back in my seat, feeling confident in our technology.
"Our system is highly efficient," I reply.
"It takes only a fraction of energy to convert water into fuel compared to traditional gasoline engines."
She turns the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life beneath us.
The reporter grips the steering wheel, her eyes still wide with disbelief.
"So, you're telling me this car can run on any water source?" she asks incredulously.
"Exactly," I confirm, nodding. "And that's why Musk wanted in—he realized we're not just building cars; we're redefining the future of energy."
I guide the reporter to the showroom exit, where Marcus is waiting to open the garage door.
As it slides up, revealing the Pacific Coast Highway stretching out before us, I can feel her anticipation building.
"Are you ready to experience the power of Revolt Motors firsthand?" I ask, a grin spreading across my face.
She nods eagerly, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I explain the launch control sequence.
"Press the brake with your foot," I instruct.
"Then select Sport Plus mode using the button on your left. Finally, pull both paddles behind the wheel toward you."
She follows my instructions carefully, and I watch as the dashboard lights up with a sequence of indicators.
The heads-up display flickers to life in front of her, showing a countdown timer.
"When the light turns green, release the brake," I tell her.
"Remember to keep your foot on the accelerator."
She nods, her eyes fixed intently on the display.
The countdown begins: 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
The light flashes green, and she releases the brake pedal.
Instantly, the R1 launches forward with crushing G-force, pressing us deep into our seats.
The speedometer needle rockets upward: 60... 80... 100...
We blast past slower traffic on the highway, leaving them in our wake. The reporter's eyes widen in awe as she struggles to maintain control of the car's incredible acceleration.
The roar of the engine fills our ears, drowning out any other sound.
As we reach 150 miles per hour, I can feel her tension easing slightly.
She's beginning to enjoy the raw power coursing through every fiber of this vehicle.
We pass a group of motorcycles on our right, their riders glancing over in surprise as we leave them behind with ease.
I smile smugly, knowing that Revolt Motors has created something truly special here.
This isn't just a car; it's a testament to human ingenuity and determination.
The speedometer climbs higher still: 180... 200...
We're pushing the limits now, but I have complete faith in this machine and its capabilities.
Suddenly, we see a gap in traffic ahead—a long stretch of open road inviting us to unleash our full potential.
The reporter takes the bait, flooring it as we shoot forward like a bullet.
The wind rushes past us, whipping through our hair.
We're flying, weightless and free, with nothing but the horizon ahead.
And then, just as quickly as it began, we slow down.
The reporter eases off the gas pedal, and the R1 gradually decelerates until we're back to a normal speed.
As she pulls into the parking lot outside the showroom, her hands are still shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush.
"That was incredible," she breathes, her eyes wide with excitement.
"I've never felt anything like it."
I smile, pleased to see her genuine enthusiasm for our creation.
"Welcome to Revolt Motors," I say proudly.
"We're not just building cars; we're changing the world."
She parks the R1 back at its designated spot in the showroom and turns off the engine.
Her hands are still trembling with excitement as she steps out of the car.
"That was amazing," she says again, her eyes shining with admiration.
"I can't believe how fast it went."
I smile, feeling proud of our creation.
"The Revolt R1 is a game-changer," I say confidently.
"It's not just a car; it's a symbol of innovation and progress."
She nods in agreement, her gaze still fixed on the sleek vehicle beside us.
"I can see why it's been making headlines," she says thoughtfully.
"It's truly revolutionary." I gesture toward the showroom exit, offering my hand to help her up from her seat.
"Thank you for joining me on that test drive," I say with a smile.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
She takes my hand, her touch warm against mine as she rises to stand beside me.
"It was incredible," she says again, her eyes still shining with excitement.
I lead her back into the showroom, the Revolt R1 gleaming behind us.
The other customers are still admiring the various models on display, their conversations hushed as they take in the cutting-edge technology surrounding them.
We stop near the entrance, and I turn to face her once more.
"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" I ask politely.
She hesitates for a moment before speaking.
"Actually, there is one thing," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
I lean closer, intrigued by her sudden hesitation.
"What is it?" I ask gently. She takes a deep breath before meeting my gaze again.
"I was wondering... if I could have this car," she says quietly, her eyes pleading with mine.
I raise an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting such a request from a reporter.
"I'm sorry," I say apologetically.
"But our cars are not available for free. They cost $80,000 each."
She nods understandingly, her expression falling slightly at my words.
"I see," she says softly.
"I don't think I can afford that."
I study her face for a moment, noticing the genuine disappointment in her eyes.
Then, without thinking twice, I make an impulsive decision.
"Tell you what," I say with a smile.
"This one's on me. Consider it a gift."
Her eyes widen in surprise at my words, and she looks at me incredulously.
"Really?" she asks in disbelief. I nod reassuringly, feeling no regret over my decision.
"Yes," I confirm.
"We have two million units ready for sale worldwide. One less won't make a difference."
She throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly in gratitude.
"Thank you so much," she whispers against my chest.
I can feel her warmth and closeness, and suddenly, I'm aware of the attraction between us.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I think we might kiss.
But then my phone buzzes with an incoming text message.
I pull away from her embrace, slipping the phone out of my pocket to check the screen.
It's from Sarah, my assistant.
I quickly read the message before tucking the phone back into my pocket.
I turn to face the reporter once more, a smile on my face.
"What's your name?" I ask her, even though I already know it from her press credentials.
"Danielle Baxter," she replies with a smile of her own.
"Well, Danielle, welcome to the future," I say, handing her the keys.
She takes them from me, her manicured fingers wrapping around the leather keychain.
"Thank you again," she says, her voice filled with gratitude.
"I promise to take good care of it."
I watch as she walks over to the R1, unlocking the driver's side door and sliding into the seat.
She adjusts the mirrors and seat position, then presses the start button.
The engine hums to life beneath her, its unique sound filling the showroom.
I explain a few more features on the digital dashboard before she puts it into gear and slowly drives toward the exit.
As she pulls out onto the street, I can see her eyes light up with excitement in the rearview mirror.
She shifts into sport mode, and the R1's low growl echoes through the air.
As she accelerates down the road, I hear her voice through the open window.
"You know," she calls back, "this isn't just a car—it's a symbol of hope."
I nod, watching her disappear into the distance. "And you're the perfect person to share that hope with the world," I reply softly to myself.