Chapter 44

Brinley stared on at the red racing model, almost gasping in shock.

How on earth did Austin come to own that? And why was it displayed so prominently in the center of his collection?

"You like these racing models?" Austin's voice drifted over, carrying a hint of nonchalance. "I picked these up back when I was obsessed with racing. They have just been sitting there since then; I never really got around to tossing them out."

Snapping herself back to the present, Brinley forced down the wave of emotions threatening to rise,struggling to keep her tone calm. "You...you used to race?"

"Yeah, there was a period when I was fascinated by it." With a casual flick of his wrist, Austin closed the drawer. "But once I took charge of the company, I stopped racing. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. Just... these models are so finely crafted."Brinley stared straight into Austin's eyes, searching their depths for a trace of memory.

Throughout her years on the track, she had encountered countless opponents. Their eyes had always burned with passion, shrewd calculation, and stubborn defiance.

Austin's eyes, however, were calm and unfathomable, like a deep well that revealed nothing at all.

"Bought them on a whim." He reached for a file on the desk, clearly uninterested in elaborating. "Are you into racing,too?"

"A little," Brinley replied. "The thrill of speed has always drawn me in."

But her words trailed off as she glanced down,fearful of revealing too much.

Could it be that he already knew who she really was? Was he deliberately showing her his interest in racing?

"The faster you go, the more dangerous it gets,"Austin remarked, his tone as detached as if he were dissecting a quarterly report.

"True." Brinley no longer felt like keeping the conversation going. She stood, took the empty milk cup in hand, and said, "You should get some rest;don't stay up too late."

"Alright." Austin's eyes followed her brisk exit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face, but he made no move to stop her.

Brinley all but rushed out of the study, and by the time she reached her room, her palms had been damp with sweat.

Leaning against the door, she replayed the sight of those racing models and Austin's unnervingly calm tone when speaking about them. Her mind whirled with thoughts.

That red race car was the very one she had driven to victory-a championship model produced in fewer than fifty units worldwide.

It was such a coincidence that he owned one.

Back then, she had competed under the alias "Rosara," hailed as the queen of racing drivers,winning multiple titles and gathering an enormous following. If Austin truly admired racing, it would make sense for him to collect a model of her championship car.

In the days that followed, Brinley found herself increasingly drawn to watching him.

At dinner, whenever racing was mentioned on the sports news, he always had sharp, precise insights.

He could break down a racer's split-second miscalculation, identify an engine failure, or point out technical detailsthat even engineers might overlook.

Brinley's doubts only grew, pushing her to test him.

That Friday night, Austin finished work earlier than