The air in the penthouse's underground garage was cold and sterile, faintly scented with ozone from the air purifiers and the expensive leather of dozens of sports cars lined up like giant toys. Thomas Vance leaned against the hood of his deep blue Bugatti Chiron, arms crossed over his chest. In front of him, Tiffany, his ex-girlfriend, stood with an expression that was a theatrical mix of anger and disappointment.
"I can't believe you didn't do it, Tom," she said, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Just one thing I asked for my birthday. One thing. A pink Lamborghini Revuelto."
Thomas sighed, a familiar weariness washing over him. "Tiff, we broke up. Besides, I've already given you a downtown condo and unlimited access to my credit cards for the last six months. Isn't that enough?"
"Enough?" Tiffany laughed, a shrill, unpleasant sound. "It's not about the money, it's about the gesture! It's about showing you care!"
"I cared enough not to buy you a half-million-dollar sports car after you cheated on me," Thomas retorted flatly, his tone more weary than angry.
Tiffany's eyes narrowed. She took a step back, her hand fumbling in her Hermes handbag. Thomas thought she was going to pull out her phone to start social media drama, as usual.
However, what emerged was a silver Glock 19 with a Swarovski crystal-encrusted grip. A ridiculous gift Thomas had given her last year for "self-protection," which served more as a fashion accessory.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Tiff. What now?"
"If I can't have it," she hissed, raising the pistol with a trembling hand, "then you can't have anything either!"
A loud bang shattered the sterile silence. It felt unreal. Thomas felt a strong shove in his chest, as if someone had punched him hard. He staggered backward, his hand reflexively pressing against his chest. When he pulled his hand away, he saw bright red staining his custom white silk shirt.
He stared at Tiffany with a bewildered expression. Then he looked at the small hole in his chest. A sharp, burning pain began to spread. His legs felt weak. He fell to his knees, then lay on his side on the cold concrete floor. His last sights were Tiffany's panicked face, the glint of crystals on the pistol, and his own drops of blood beginning to pool near the tire of his beloved Bugatti.
His last thought was so trivial it felt absurd. He didn't even know how to turn off the safety on that gun...
Then, everything went dark.