Sebastien Valet Novels & Stories

I heard someone stifle a laugh from the crowd and one of his posse stepped forward to Mikhail. “Sean is putting his ride on the line. If you win, she’s yours.” “But If I win…” Sean pointed at the car behind me. “I want your beast.” Mikhail stared at him, and without a single word he strolled to his car and popped the hood. Mikhail’s friend also followed to check out the opponent’s car. “That’s a 2JZ-GTE engine! Twin turbo,” he whistled. “A girl like this can push up to 1,000 horses with the right mods.”

Ava’s brow furrowed as doubt clouded her mind. How had Valentina known she would be at Maison Marseille tonight? And hadn’t Valentina been unwell? Why had she been discharged from the hospital so quickly? Outside the towering building, Valentina leaned against a sleek Lamborghini worth five million dollars—one that her father, Alfonso, had bought for her. The sports car gleamed under the city lights, a statement of wealth and indulgence. Alfonso had repeatedly told Valentina not to drive alone and had even offered to assign her a driver. But Valentina often ignored his advice, opting to discreetly track a man she was infatuated with, as though her persistence would one day earn his attention

he said. "Your guy's going to crash on the second-to-last turn to Joseph Kessel," she stated matter-of-factly. "Kessel from Renault?" protested Sebastian. He trusted his driver completely. "No, not joking..." she calmly explained, "Seven months ago, Kessel collided with him in a minor incident in a corner in your last race." "We still won that race!" he argued. "But his mind lost," she said. "Since then, your guy has a fear of Kessel. He slows down by .2 seconds in every turn to avoid it. Sum that up... you're losing 3.4 seconds total. And Kessel already realizes it—he'll use it."

He reaches for the door handle, but Max is faster. Max rolls the window down just an inch, his expression flat and immovable. “I’m good, thanks.” “It’s a complimentary service we provide to all our guests, sir,” the valet presses, sounding slightly confused. Max doesn't offer an explanation. He simply rolls the window back up, the thick glass silencing the valet mid-sentence. I watch the young man’s face drop in the side mirror as Max pulls away, navigating the massive vehicle to a spot near the edge of the lot. Max doesn't let anyone touch this car. It’s a Leone vehicle, and in his world, a valet is just a security breach waiting to happen.

I exclaimed, letting go of his hand, even though that meant losing my connection to his mind, so I could wander over and look at each and every one of them. He had two Bugatti’s, A Chiron Noir like mine but with orange accents underneath and Solid black Veyron. He had a Ferrari 250 Grand Turismo Omologato, which, by the way, is the rarest car in the world! A Lamborghini Diablo VT 6.0 Se and a Lamborghini Aventador SVJ. There was an old style Ford Model T, in perfect original condition, a Tesla Roadster, a really nice Porsche Spyder, a suped up 2021 Honda Civic….

He felt awkward when he realized that the others had heard him. Sebastian cast him an unfriendly look. With a snort, he said, "Dumbass. Do you think that the valet will just help you park any car? Look at this place. They will only park your car for you if it's at least worth $300,000!" Sebastian was of the opinion that not many customers drove cars that could qualify for the valet service, so he was not embarrassed by this. "Yeah! Nobody helped me park my car when I came! You should shut your mouth if you don't know what you're talking about!" said Xavier.

Emily POV Six months after Sebastian Cross fled to Switzerland, life found an unusual rhythm. Lotus Automotive sold for eight billion. Sebastian accepted, overpaid dramatically, and immediately discovered he'd bought an expensive shell. We retained all IP, key personnel, and the Formula One team. Lothan-Lotus Racing prepared for our debut season. I stood in the team garage at Barcelona testing, watching mechanics work on our cars during their eighteen months of development. "Emily, we have telemetry from Davies Hartley's run, " my race engineer called. "Fastest

He always takes his turn in the last final, causing the crowd to shout in anxiousness and excitement. The one Vale is currently driving is a Bugatti Veyron super sport, 268 miles per hour. When the girl brings the flags in her hands down, the cars immediately vroomed and shot forward like an arrow. Vale kept her drive steady on position number three. To win the race, they have to complete five rounds in the arena and finished in the first place. Cassie gripped the seatbelt for dear life as her legs trembled and her stomach twisted in a knot. She never knew that her leader is a sports car lover and also a freak in the car race. She can clearly felt her life on the line as the world around the

Execution will be an entirely different battle. Just as I start mentally mapping out the structure, the sharp screech of tires pierces the air. I turn my head slightly, watching as an Aston Martin Superleggera comes to a smooth halt just a few feet away. And there he is. Ciaran Valente. He steps out of the sleek car, his movements unhurried. No blazer today. Just a dark shirt with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up as if he’s been doing actual manual labor. His dark hair is slightly tousled, strands falling onto his forehead.

“They’re daring Larissa to strike publicly.” “And daring us to contradict them.” Valerie slipped her phone into her coat pocket. “I won’t.” Sebastian looked at her. “You won’t what?” “I won’t react,” she said. “Not yet.” They reached her car. The Ferrari waited at the curb, low, sculpted, unapologetic. The valet opened the door. Valerie paused, hand on the frame. “You knew this would force proximity,” she said, not looking at him. “I knew it would limit options.”