Chapter 79

By the time Brinley and Austin returned to Hillcrest Villa, the clock had already inched toward ten.

The butler spotted them at once and stepped forward with practiced deference. "Mr. Moore, Mrs. Moore,dinner has been prepared. Shall I warm it up for you now?"

Austin shook his head lightly. "No need. We already ate out."

"Very well," the butler murmured, bowing slightly before retreating down the hall.

Inside the quiet living room, Brinley started toward the stairs, but Austin's voice stopped her. "Hold on a second."

With a glance in his direction, she queried,there something else?"

Closing the distance between them, Austin drew a small velvet box from his pocket and offered it to her."This is for you."

Brinley accepted it, curiosity flickering in her eyes.When she lifted the lid, a delicate brooch gleamed inside-shaped like a rose, its clean, elegant lines catching the light with understated beauty.

"This is..." Her voice trailed off, caught between surprise and wonder.

Austin's smile softened as he said, "Think of it as a good-luck charm for your exhibition race. I hope you crush it out there."

A swell of emotion stirred in Brinley as she cradled the brooch in her palm.

She lifted her gaze to him, her voice low. "What is it that you really want to know?"

His eyes lingered on her, layered with unreadable depth. "I just want to get to know the real you."

Her chest tightened, her pulse stumbling

She parted her lips, but the words refused to form.

Rather than pressing her, Austin curved his mouth into a quiet smile. "Get some rest."

As his footsteps faded, Brinley curled her fingers tightly around the delicate rose-shaped brooch.

The weight of it pressed into her palm, a reminder that his suspicions were sharpening-and she would have to tread even more carefully As the countdown hit its last week before the exhibition race, Brinley spent nearly every day at the racetrack on the city's edge.

To keep up her "novice" façade, she stuck to the white car and deliberately kept her cornering speeds steady and tame.

Yet the more she held herself back, the harder it became to bury the wild streak that belonged to Rosara.

Every glance at the glowing numbers on the timing board tugged at he hands, whispering to push harder,faster.

Later that afternoon, as she zipped up her racing suit,Jensen strode over. "Rosara, Fenton's tied up with some family matters today and can't make it. I've arranged for Bowman to step in. He's been around nearly ten years-knows this place better than anyone."

Brinley followed Jensen's line of sight to a man in the corner. The middle-aged mechanic, clad in a gray work uniform, was polishing a wrench with deliberate strokes.

At the sound of his name, he lifted his head and offered a courteous smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Moore. I am Bowman Alvarez. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're in good hands."

A ripple of unease ran through Brinley

Something about Bowman didn't sit right-the glint in his eyes clashed with the easy facade of a veteran trackhand.

Still, Jensen was trustworthy, and she forced down her misgivings with a curt nod. "Thanks."

The white car eased onto the blistering track,sunlight glaring across its hood.

She tapped the brake out of habit, only to find the pedal stiffer than yesterday, as though a thin cushion had been wedged beneath her foot.

Her brows knit together. Turning the wheel, she noticed the steering lagged by half a beat,sluggish and muffled, as if cotton had been crammed into the column.

Pressing the walkie-talkie,she asked evenly, "Bowman,did you set the car up wrong?"

Bowman's voice came through the walkie, laced with static. "Mrs. Moore, you're stressing over nothing. We ran the checks this morning-brake fluid and steering system are fine. Maybe you're just a little rusty?" Brinley let the matter drop. Cars at the track were handled by countless drivers all year, and unexpected issues surfaced from time to time.

She drew in a steadying breath, pressed the accelerator, and the white car leapt smoothly down the straight.

The first two laps passed without incident.

She kept her speed reined in, concentrating on compensating for each flaw she felt.

The brakes resisted, so she tapped them half a second earlier.

The steering dragged, so she angled her turns ahead of time.

By the third lap, however, the glitches worsened.

As she fought through the string of S-curves, the wheel suddenly locked mid-turn, then snapped loose,spinning a half rotation too far when she tried to correct.

Brinley frowned, clutching the wheel so hard her knuckles whitened. The tires shrieked in protest as the car skimmed past the guardrail by inches.

A cold sheen of sweat broke across her forehead- this was far more than some minor issues

"Bowman,check the steering system right now!" she barked into the walkie-talkie.

The reply was nothing but a harsh crackle of static.

A sharp flutter rattled Brinley's chest. The situation reeked of imminent danger

She slammed her foot on the brake, trying to angle the car toward the pit lane, but the pedal felt fused to the floor.

It pressed down barely an inch before locking solid.

The needle on the speedometer climbed past seventy,and up ahead, the sharpest hairpin on the circuit came rushing closer like a looming threat.

Sweat seeped through her racing suit, clinging hot against her skin.

A vise-like tightness squeezed her chest, but her thoughts cut razor-sharp.

This wasn't a breakdown-it was cold, calculated sabotage!

She flicked her gaze to the rearview mirror. The straightaway stretched empty behind her; there was no one to call, no time left. Ahead, the hairpin's guardrail loomed larger by the heartbeat, sunlight bouncing off the metal in a blinding glare.

Brinley flicked on the hazard lights and yanked the handbrake.

For any racer, that desperate move marked the final resort when brakes failed.

The car whipped sideways, tires shrieking, acrid smoke curling up from the asphalt.

Harnessing the wild momentum, she fought the slide,forcing the nose toward the runoff zone carved inside the bend.

That stretch was lined with thick rubber mats-the last buffer meant to catch machines out of control.

But just as her front bumper veered toward safety,the steering wheel froze stiff in her hands.