Chapter 97
Audrey’s POV:
The caller ID flashed “Edward Miller.”
Edward rarely called unless it concerned Noah.
:
I realized with a pang of guilt that I hadn’t been to see Noah for several days now.
I took a deep breath, collecting myself before answering.
“Hello, Edward,” I answered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Miss Lane,” Edward’s proper British accent came through clearly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. Is everything okay?”
There was a slight hesitation.
“Noah has been asking when you might visit him again. He’s been… somewhat withdrawn these past few days.”
The guilt intensified. Noah didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire of whatever was happening between Caspar and me.
‘I was wondering if perhaps you might be available to come by today?” Edward continued, his tone apologetic.
‘Mr. Thornton has an important business meeting and won’t be home until very late.”
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The mention of Caspar being absent should have made the decision easier, but instead, I felt a complicated tangle of emotions I wasn’t
ready to sort through.
‘I’m really sorry, Edward, but I’m swamped right now,” I lied, glancing at the empty room. “Please tell Noah I’ll visit him as soon as I
finish up here, okay?”
‘Of course, Miss Lane. I understand completely.”
The disappointment in Edward’s voice was unmistakable.
I tossed my phone onto the couch and glanced at the clock: 10:00 PM. I’d fallen asleep almost immediately after getting home earlier, but
now I felt restless.
The walls of my apartment seemed to close in around me as I paced the living room.
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Chapter 97
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I needed to get out, to breathe, to find some way to relax and clear my head.
Thirty minutes later.
I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, barely recognizing myself.
The woman looking back at me wore a black leather jacket over a plain white tank top, faded black jeans, and combat boots.
A sleek black wig covered my natural hair, and dark sunglasses completed the transformation.
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This was a side of me no one in my New York life had ever seen–the side I’d developed during those four years in London when I needed
an escape from my suffocating reality.
I grabbed my keys and headed out, driving my car toward Brooklyn.
Away from the Upper East Side, away from Thornton Group, away from all the complications.
The underground race scene was housed in an abandoned warehouse district, far from the prying eyes of Manhattan’s elite.
As I pulled into the makeshift parking area, I could already hear the bass–heavy music pulsing from inside and see the crowd of leather-
and–denim–clad figures milling about, discussing engines and odds.
“Fresh meat?” A tall, tattooed man with a clipboard eyed me as I approached.
“Just passing through,” I replied, keeping my voice lower than usual.
He smirked. “Entry fee’s five hundred if you’re watching, two thousand if you’re racing.”
I pulled out a stack of hundreds from my jacket pocket and counted out two thousand.
His eyebrows rose slightly as he pocketed the cash.
“Car’s over there,” I nodded toward my coupe. “Nothing special, but it gets the job done.”
“You racing your own ride or using one of our house cars?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.
‘House car,” I replied. I don’t want to expose my license plate.
He nodded, making a note on his clipboard.
“We’ve got a few options in the back. Nothing special, but a good driver can still place with them. It’s not always about the machine, you
know.”
I simply thanked him without comment.
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Chapter 97
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Inside, the warehouse had been transformed into a gathering space for people who lived for the thrill of illegal street racing.
The organizer, a heavyset man with a gold tooth, he announced the night’s route.
“Brooklyn Bay to Williamsburg Bridge! Five grand to the winner. And remember–if you get caught, you don’t know us.”
A chorus of laughter and cheers followed his announcement.
Engines roared to life around me as twelve cars lined up at the makeshift starting line.
I settled into my driver’s seat, the familiar rush of adrenaline beginning to course through my veins.
The flag dropped, and we were off.
I held back initially, letting the more aggressive drivers battle it out in front.
There was a science to street racing. It wasn’t about who could floor it the hardest; it was about precision, timing, and knowing exactly
when to make your move.
By the halfway point, I’d moved up to fourth position.
The driver ahead of me–his car emblazoned with a neon blue dragon–was taking turns too wide, bleeding precious seconds.
I waited until we hit a straightaway, then gunned it, sliding past him with barely an inch to spare.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered to my car as we approached the next turn.
The two lead drivers were battling each other, swerving dangerously.
I maintained a steady third, conserving energy for the final stretch.
Then came ‘Death Turn“-a nearly 90–degree bend.
As we approached it, the lead driver lost control, his car skidding sideways before slamming hard into the concrete barrier in a shower of
sparks.
The second driver glanced back and spotted me gaining.
With deliberate malice, he swerved into my lane, trying to force me toward the outside of the turn where there was barely any room to
maneuver.
I had a split–second to make a decision: brake and fall back, or take a risk that could end with my car wrapped around a barrier. I chose
the latter.
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Chapter 97
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Downshifting rapidly, I jerked the wheel left then right, the tires screaming in protest as the car fishtailed.
For one heart–stopping moment, I was sliding directly toward the concrete wall, close enough to see the graffiti tags sprayed across its
surface.
The crowd collectively gasped.
I counter–steered hard, feathering the gas with surgical precision.
The car responded, drifting through the impossibly tight space between the Mustang and the barrier with mere inches to spare.
As we exited the turn, I was perfectly positioned on the inside line.
The Mustang driver’s eyes widened in his rearview mirror.
I crossed the finish line half a car length ahead, the crowd erupting in shocked cheers and boos.
The organizer pushed through the crowd.
His intimidating appearance was at odds with the grudging respect in his eyes as he extended a thick envelope toward me.
‘Five grand, as promised,” he said, voice like gravel. “Where’d you learn to drive like that? Are you interested in joining us?”
I took the envelope without hesitation, quickly flipping through the bills before tucking it into my jacket.
With a small smile, I shook my head.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” I said simply, then turned and walked away before he could press further.
The ride home was quiet, the earlier adrenaline giving way to a calm satisfaction.
It was nearly 3 AM when I finally unlocked my apartment door.
After a quick shower to wash away the night’s grime, I collapsed into bed, my body aching pleasantly from the tension of the race.
All the tangled thoughts that had been plaguing me had dissolved into the simple fatigue that follows intense exhilaration.
My mind was finally, blissfully quiet.
I fell asleep almost the moment my head hit the pillow.
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Accidentally Crossing the Tycoon
Chapter 98
Caspar’s POV:
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
