Wheels of Fate (MM) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

Pakin’s P.O.VThe room had fallen into a heavy, weighted silence after P’Dew left. The sterile smell of the hospital—bleach, rubbing alcohol, and old air—seemed to press in on me, making the walls feel closer than they actually were.I felt raw, like a nerve exposed to the open air. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the phantom sensation of that man’s hands, the suffocating fog of the drug, and the terrifying realization that I had been completely powerless.Sean didn't move from my side. He shifted, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat closer, his presence a warm, solid wall against the coldness of the room. He reached out, his large hand enveloping mine. His skin was rough, calloused from years of gripping steering wheels and shifting gears, but his touch was incredibly gentle, as if he were afraid I might shatter if he pressed too hard."I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking

Chase’s P.O.VThe roar of the stadium was a living thing, a tidal wave of sound that crashed over us as the official results flashed across the giant screens in bold, golden letters. WINNER: SEAN. The victory was absolute, a triumph of skill over malice, and for a fleeting second, I felt a weight lift from my chest that I hadn’t realized I was carrying.I started to move, my heart leaping with the urge to throw myself into Sean’s arms, to tell him how proud I was, how terrified I’d been, and how much I loved the way he looked when he conquered the world.But I didn't even get three steps before the atmosphere shifted.Talay had exited his car with a violence that mirrored his driving. He didn't just step out; he practically leaped from the cockpit, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He didn't look at the officials or the cameras; his eyes were locked on Sean like a predator that had been denied its kill. He stormed across the asphalt, his boots clicking sharply against the t

Dew’s P.O.VI stared at the wall of monitors in my private study, the blue light casting a ghostly pallor over the room. On every screen, the same images looped in a relentless, digital cycle.My brother, Pakin—the youngest prince of Thailand—and a racer with a reputation for being as volatile as the engines he drove.The photo of them in the medical room was the epicenter of the storm. It wasn't just a picture; it was a declaration of war against every tradition my family had spent centuries upholding.Beside me, P’Sanya, my lead lawyer and one of the few men in the palace I actually trusted, sighed heavily. He was rubbing his temples, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose."I've contacted the platforms, Your Highness," P’Sanya said, his voice sounding exhausted. "But it's too late. The footage of the fight and the photographs have been mirrored across a dozen different servers. T

Pakin's P.O.V"...and while neither Prince Pakin Thanawin nor the Royal Palace has released an official statement regarding the nature of his relationship with professional racer Sean Sahapap, speculation continues to grow after the pair were spotted arriving and leaving the race venue together on multiple occasions."I sighed, reaching for the remote.Click."...Many royal analysts believe the upcoming Royal Charity Ball, which will be hosted by His Majesty next weekend, may finally provide answers. Will the second prince arrive alone, or will he introduce the mysterious Track Dragons racer who has recently captured both the nation's attention and—"Click.Another channel."...#PrincePakin and #SeanSahapap have remained the top trending topics for nearly forty-eight consecutive hours, with fans eagerly debating whether Thailand is witnessing its first openly public royal gay romance—"Click."...Sources close to the palace claim preparations for the charity ball are already underway,

Pakin’s P.O.VThe silence in the car was heavy, thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of the track and everything to do with the destination. The victory at Buriram still hummed in my veins, but it felt like a distant echo, drowned out by the looming shadow of the palace.Two weeks. We had two weeks until the next race, a brief respite that should have been a blessing. But the royal charity ball was only four days away. For most, a ball was a fairy tale; for me, it was a summons. It was the moment I had to stop being a racer, stop being a man who loved another man, and return to being a decorative piece of the monarchy’s carefully curated image.I stared out the window, watching the landscape shift from the raw, industrial edges of the city to the manicured, oppressive greenery of the royal outskirts."I don't want to go," I whispered, the words feeling small and fragile in the space between us.