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Chapter Four: The Masked Game
Huling Na-update:
2025-07-07 23:43:30If Valmere had a heartbeat, it pulsed beneath the city—in the dark, winding roads where names didn’t matter and reputations were earned in screeching tires and midnight wagers.
And tonight, Isla Merrick was ready to return to where she first learned power didn’t need a voice. Just speed.
She stood on the rooftop level of the Crimson Bar’s private lot, the air sharp and laced with gasoline. Below, masked drivers and souped-up engines prowled like wolves in heat.
“Tell me you’re not actually going down there,” Lydia said, crossing her arms as the wind whipped at her curls.
Isla didn’t answer immediately. She was watching the gates open—watching the way the crowd shifted when one figure stepped onto the asphalt.
A racer in a matte black helmet.
Moonshadow.
“Still undefeated?” she asked.
“Still untouchable,” Lydia said. “And still wondering where you went.”
Isla’s lips twitched faintly. “Then let’s give him something to wonder about.”
Lydia blinked. “You’re serious?”
“I was trained for this.” Her voice was quiet, but resolute. “Summerdell didn’t just teach me how to hit back—it taught me how to outrun anyone who thought they knew me.”
Lydia gave her a long look. “So this isn’t just about speed.”
“No,” Isla replied. “It’s about memory. Making sure no one forgets who I used to be before I became someone’s shadow.”
Meanwhile, inside the bar’s VIP lounge, Callum stood at the tall window overlooking the lot, half-listening to Seinna ramble beside him.
He wasn’t supposed to be there. He hated these races—messy, uncivilized, dangerous.
But then he saw the unmistakable swing of Isla’s hips as she stepped onto the tarmac—dressed in black, her hair braided tight, a visor tucked under one arm.
And suddenly, nothing else in the room made a sound.
His breath caught—not in admiration, but confusion. Disorientation.
That’s not how Isla walked.
That’s not how Isla stood.
“She’s going down there?” he muttered, too sharply.
Seinna looked up from her phone. “Who? Isla? You didn’t know? She used to race. Way before you married her.”
Callum turned slowly. “She what?”
“Underground circuit. Code name Raven. She was kind of a legend.” Seinna shrugged. “Thought you knew.”
He didn’t.
He knew her favorite tea. Her reading habits. How she used to hum softly when ironing his shirts.
But not this.
Not her.
Back outside, Isla pulled her helmet on, sealing herself behind the dark visor. A hush fell as she approached the starting line beside Moonshadow.
He glanced her way.
She didn’t flinch.
The starter’s hand went up.
Three.
Two. One—The world shattered into motion.
Engines screamed. Tires screamed louder. Isla launched forward like a shot fired clean from a rifle, her reflexes clean, fluid, brutal.
Inside the bar, Callum leaned forward, watching in disbelief.
She wasn’t trying to prove herself.
She was claiming something.
And she wasn’t chasing anyone.
She was being chased.
He flinched when she took a razor-sharp turn no one else dared to try—drifting clean around Moonshadow in a blur of taillights and smoke.
Lydia, watching from the pit, grinned. “Oh, she’s back.”
Ten laps. No mistakes.
When Isla crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted.
She took off her helmet, slow and deliberate, her curls tumbling down in the spotlight. Her chest heaved—not from exhaustion, but exhilaration.
Moonshadow pulled up beside her, helmet still on. He gave a simple nod before driving off.
Isla didn’t look after him.
She looked up.
At the window where she knew Callum was watching.
Even from this distance, she saw him.
Frozen.
Jaw clenched.
Hands at his sides.
His expression said what his voice wouldn’t:
Who the hell are you?
She held his gaze for one long moment… then turned away.
Back in the lounge, Seinna spoke, but Callum wasn’t listening.
He couldn’t stop replaying the race.
Couldn’t stop seeing her—bold, merciless, unrecognizable.
And the worst part?
He liked it.
It unsettled him more than any insult could.
Because for the first time since signing those papers, Callum Braxton felt something he never thought he’d feel again.
Jealousy.
Pinakabagong kabanata
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