Riding in the car with Deckard was an experience in itself. For one, I had no idea how to drive in London, and two, it gave me the perfect excuse to just sit back and admire the city.

We stopped at a restaurant for dinner. It was cozy yet elegant, the kind of place where the lighting was dim and the wine flowed freely. I ordered salmon with asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a glass of wine. Deckard, being Deckard, went for a hearty cut of red meat.

To say we didn't flirt would be a lie.

Honestly, it felt like a date, and I didn't care. I loved spending time with him.

After dinner, we got back in the car and drove to his mother's house. Calling it small would be a massive understatement—it was big, elegant, and had a certain charm to it.

As we pulled up, I noticed men in black suits standing guard, their hands resting on their guns.

A wave of unease hit me, but before I could react, Deckard reached over and took my hand.

"It's okay. My mum's nice," he reassured me.

I nodded, letting his touch ground me, and Deckard parked the car. He stepped out first, then came around to open the door for me, offering his hand as I climbed out.

Inside, the hallway was filled with framed photographs—some of family, others of landscapes and art.

I found myself drawn to them, studying each one with quiet fascination.

"You like artwork?"

I turned to see Deckard watching me with a soft smile.

"Growing up, we didn't have money for artwork, so my mother used to take me to museums all the time," I admitted. "I loved it—spending time with her, learning about history through paintings. I have a sister I'm really close to, but my brothers... one of them left, and I have no idea where he is. The other? He tried to force me to marry a man who harassed me."

Deckard's expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening. "Sounds like a right bastard to me." His voice was low, controlled—dangerous. "I promise you, love, no one's gonna lay a hand on you while I'm around. If that bastard ever comes near you again, I'll knock his bloody lights out."

A small smile tugged at my lips. There was something comforting about his protectiveness.

Deckard stepped closer, his hand gently taking mine. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. My heart skipped a beat.

We leaned in, the space between us disappearing. I could feel his breath against my skin, my pulse racing—

"Mr. Shaw, your mother is waiting for you and Miss Toretto."

The moment shattered like glass.

Deckard pulled back, his expression flickering with annoyance. He exhaled sharply, glancing toward the doorway. "We're coming."

I followed him down the hall and into a room where a woman stood waiting.

She had short gray hair, sharp eyes, and the kind of presence that demanded attention without trying. She wore a dress that was both elegant and effortless, carrying herself with confidence.

"Hi, Mum. Nice to see you," Deckard greeted her.

"Deck, are you behaving yourself?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Deckard sighed. "Yes, Mum."

Then his expression turned serious. "We have a problem—Cipher's back, and she tried to take something."

Magdalene Shaw's expression hardened. "That woman is a menace. What do you need from me?"

Deckard nodded toward me. "Actually, she needs your help."

I stepped closer, suddenly feeling under scrutiny as Magdalene turned her gaze on me.

"Deck, you have another woman now?" she teased.

Deckard groaned. "Mum, it's not like that."

He glanced at me. "Mum, meet Isabella Toretto."

I stepped forward. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Shaw."

She waved a hand. "Please, call me Magdalene. And you—call me Isabella."

Magdalene motioned for us to sit. "Now, tell me—how did you meet my sons, and what exactly happened?"

I told her everything.

Deckard sat beside me, listening, and at some point, he draped an arm around my shoulders. A blush crept up my neck, but I didn't move away. If he noticed, he didn't comment.

By the time I finished, Magdalene looked thoroughly impressed. "Well, I must say, I like you, Isabella. Smart, talented, and not easily intimidated."

Deckard and Magdalene started discussing details, and I decided to give them some privacy.

"Is there a gym here?" I asked.

A guard pointed me in the right direction, and I wasted no time heading there. Martial arts had been a part of my childhood—karate, jiu-jitsu, a bit of kickboxing. I wasn't an expert, but I could hold my own.

I threw a few kicks and punches, focusing on my form.

"Not bad, love."

I turned to see Deckard leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with interest.

"Yeah," I said, catching my breath. "Took lessons as a kid."

He smirked, stepping forward. "I know a few things myself. Want me to teach you?"

I grinned. "Deal—but only if you let me play with your cars. I know my way around an engine."

Deckard chuckled. "Now that I'd like to see."

We started training, exchanging moves and techniques. Neither of us noticed Magdalene watching from the doorway, a knowing smile on her face.