Chapter 205
Chapter 205
Kieran's gaze landed on Seraphine and lingered for a beat.
She wore a simple fog-blue knit top, hair pulled into a low ponytail, no makeup, standing quietly beside Octavius.
She looked up at him. "Kieran."
Her voice was flat, natural. Kieran didn't respond.
He studied her face—undeniably beautiful. So flawless it was impossible to find a single fault.
But the more beautiful she looked, the more it reminded him of Ondine locked away in the hillside villa, curled up on the couch in a threadbare old sweater, waiting for him to come home.
She wants everything, he thought. Takes everything. And still puts on that face like none of it matters to her.
He looked away and headed toward the track.
Seraphine showed no reaction to his coldness.
She didn't care what he thought of her. She sat back down, picked up a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and took a sip.
---
Just as the drivers were taking their positions and the official was about to raise the starting flag, a last-minute announcement crackled over the PA system.
One of the competitors had fallen ill during warm-ups. After medical evaluation, he'd been cleared unfit to race. If any spectator in attendance held a valid racing license and was willing to substitute, they could register with the race committee.
A murmur swept through the grandstands. The livestream comments exploded.
[A last-minute withdrawal?]
[Is anyone actually gonna step up?]
[You're kidding. Racing on the same track as a world champion? Who'd dare.]
Clayton craned his neck, scanning the crowd. "Come on, somebody go up there."
The audience buzzed with chatter, but no one stood.
Just as the official was about to announce a four-car start—
In the third row of the viewing suite, Seraphine rose to her feet.
"I'll do it."
Her voice wasn't loud, but the rows around her heard it clearly.
Valencia whipped around, hand shooting out to grip her arm. "Sera, your leg just healed—"
Seraphine pressed her hand over her mother's. The corner of her mouth curved—barely, just a fraction—but Valencia understood.
It was the expression she only wore when she meant 'I'm fine. I can handle it.'
She slipped off her jacket, laid it on her seat, and turned to Octavius beside her. "Hold this for me."
Then she walked toward the race committee desk.
Octavius took the jacket and watched her descend the steps.
Someone in the crowd recognized her. A gasp cut through the noise—"Isn't that Y? The Windsor family's real daughter—the Global Golden Award winner."
The person beside them jumped in immediately: "She can race? You've got to be kidding. Isn't she a designer?"
"Design, medicine, and now racing? That's insane."
A young man in the back row nudged his buddy, speaking just loud enough to carry: "Her own brother's a world champion. Talent runs in the family—maybe she's actually got skills."
The livestream chat went nuclear.
[Y can race?! Oh my God!]
[Wait—isn't she in medicine? How does she also drive?]
[How many more surprises does my girl have?!]
Elysia stared open-mouthed at Seraphine's retreating figure and turned to Sloane. "Did you know she could race?"
Sloane stood frozen, popcorn bucket raised mid-air, shaking her head frantically. "I didn't! I swear I didn't!"
They looked at each other and saw the same expression mirrored back.
That particular blend of shock and resigned acceptance that hit everyone around Seraphine whenever she revealed yet another hidden card.
---
Seraphine signed in at the registration desk, collected a spare racing suit and protective gear, and stepped into the changing room.
The suit was deep blue, zipped to the collar. Every strand of hair was tucked inside the helmet.
She pulled on her gloves, picked up the helmet, and pushed through the door into the pit lane staging area.
Kieran was leaning against his car drinking water. The moment he saw her walk out in full racing gear, the bottle froze at his lips. His gaze tracked from the number on her helmet to her face. His brow furrowed.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice was low, but the irritation was undisguised. "Seraphine, this isn't a game. Speeds hit 120 mph on this track like it's nothing. Turn around while you still can."
Seraphine ignored him.
She walked to her assigned car, pulled open the door, and dropped into the driver's seat. She adjusted the mirrors, scanned the instrument panel, and placed both hands on the wheel.
Every motion was fluid, instinctive—nothing like someone sitting in a race car for the first time.
Kieran watched her pull the door shut. His frown deepened.
He capped his water bottle, tossed it to a nearby crew member, pulled on his helmet, and folded himself into his own car.
If she's not afraid of embarrassing herself, he thought, let her find out the hard way.
---
The official raised the starting flag.
Five engines roared to life in unison—a deep, savage wall of sound that cracked open over the oval track.
A gunshot.
Five cars launched from the starting line. Tires screamed against asphalt, the acrid smell of burning rubber filling the air.
Seraphine's start was slow.
Her car hesitated for a split second at the line before rocketing forward, already nearly three car lengths behind the pack.
Someone in the stands clicked their tongue. The young man who'd said 'talent runs in the family' went quiet.
His buddy muttered beside him: "See? Told you. What's a girl doing out there."
Livestream comments streaked past: [Knew it—can't even launch clean, what's the point?]
Seraphine's fingers on the wheel didn't waver.
Her eyes locked on the track through the visor. Her breathing stayed level and even.
The first turn approached—a near-ninety-degree hairpin. The cars ahead braked into the bend.
She didn't slow down.
At the entrance of the curve, she hit the gas.
Her car knifed in at an angle that practically kissed the apex. The chassis tilted outward under centrifugal force, the gap between her right front tire and the track edge too narrow to measure with the naked eye.
Then she snapped the wheel straight. The engine screamed as the car slingshot out of the inside line.
She passed three cars in a single turn.
Half the grandstand shot to their feet at once.
Clayton launched out of his seat so hard his knee cracked against the chair in front of him. He didn't even register the pain—both hands gripping Valencia's arm, his voice pitched so high with excitement it nearly cracked.
"Mom! Mom, look! That turn! When did you send Seraphine to racing school?! Why didn't you take me?!"
Valencia was shaken so hard her updo tilted sideways, but she couldn't be bothered to fix it.
She watched that dark blue car arc out of the inside line, and her heart hammered so fast it felt like it might leap from her throat.
She'd never sent Seraphine to racing school. She hadn't even known her daughter could drive.
Wesley stood up from his seat, one hand on the railing, body leaning slightly forward—a look of absolute, undivided focus on his face that he almost never showed in public.