Chapter 206
Chapter 206
The livestream comments went blank for a heartbeat the instant Seraphine overtook—then exploded at ten times the previous speed.
[Who said she couldn't do it? How's that crow taste?]
[Oh my GOD that pass on the turn—my heart literally stopped!]
[That's not just knowing how to drive. That's professional-level.]
December had turned biting cold. Half the spectators in the grandstands were hunched inside down jackets, breath puffing into white clouds before their faces.
But the speedway burned like a pot of boiling oil. The roar of the engines shattered the cold wind above the stands.
The scorched smell of rubber mixed with the lingering heat of spent fuel churned through the air. Everyone was screaming, slamming the railings. After that turn, no one could stay seated.
Quinn sat in the media zone, her crew recording every second.
She kept a polished smile on her face. She even clapped lightly when Seraphine overtook, turning to her assistant with a perfectly measured tone of admiration: "Nice driving."
But her fingers dug into her palms against her knees.
Again. Seraphine.
Beating her at the symposium wasn't enough. Now she had to steal the spotlight at a racing event too.
The reputation and following Quinn had spent ten years building—Seraphine snatched all the attention away with a single turn.
---
On the track, Kieran caught the dark blue car's trajectory in his rearview mirror.
His pupils contracted slightly. Her racing line was surgically precise—every apex angle, every acceleration window, every braking point measured as if drawn with a ruler.
This wasn't luck. This wasn't raw talent. This was muscle memory forged through years of relentless training.
Where had she learned? Who taught her? Why had she never appeared at any racetrack before?
Final lap.
Kieran's red car still held the lead, but Seraphine's dark blue machine clung to his tail. The gap between them stayed locked at a single car length.
The finish line came into view. Kieran floored it, his car tearing past the checkered flag at maximum speed. Seraphine's car crossed right behind.
The electronic timing board flashed two numbers—Kieran took first by half a second. Seraphine, second.
Half a second.
The roar from the grandstands was louder than when Kieran crossed the line.
It wasn't for the champion. It was for the woman who'd clawed her way from dead last to second place.
Clayton was too excited for complete sentences, just shaking Valencia's arm over and over, repeating "half a second, half a second."
Valencia could barely keep her balance under his grip, but her eyes never left the dark blue car on the track. The shock on her face slowly transformed into a pride she couldn't contain.
Wesley removed his glasses, wiped the lenses, put them back on. A rare curve appeared at the corner of his mouth—one almost no one present had ever seen.
Every camera in the media zone locked onto the finish line.
---
Seraphine climbed out of the car, shut the door, and pulled off her gloves. Unhurried. The same calm, methodical composure she had in the clinic after removing treatment instruments and wiping her hands with an alcohol swab.
The moment she lifted the helmet off, her hair tumbled free, swaying in the afternoon breeze.
Her face held no expression. No excitement. No triumph.
The cameras pushed in on her profile. Backlit, the shot traced a cool, clean silhouette—a few loose strands brushing across cheeks flushed pink by the wind, those clear, cold eyes startlingly bright in the sun.
The livestream comments detonated.
[GODDESS!!!]
[Is she even real?!]
[I'm screenshotting that helmet-off moment for my wallpaper.]
[What kind of genes does the Windsor family have? Brother's a racing champion, sister's a racing prodigy.]
[Wait—did you all forget she's also the Global Golden Award winner AND Alvin's only apprentice?]
[Sera, how many more surprises are you hiding from us?]
Someone started spamming 'Racing Goddess' in the comments. Within minutes, #SeraphineRacingGoddess was trending.
Around the track, trust-fund heirs were already asking around for Seraphine's contact information. A young man in a limited-edition racing jacket turned to his friend: "Think it's too late to go ask for her number?"
His friend shot him a look. "Are you insane? That's Octavius's girlfriend."
The eager young men retreated immediately.
---
In the backstage lounge, Ondine stared at the livestream on her phone, knuckles white around the device.
On screen, the moment Seraphine removed her helmet had already been turned into a GIF, tagged with 'Racing Goddess,' reposts climbing every minute.
She stared at that face—hair windswept but still so beautiful it was impossible to look away—then flipped the phone face-down on the table and closed her eyes. Drew a long breath.
Seraphine. Always Seraphine. Everything good just fell into her lap.
Today was supposed to be Kieran's stage—his first public race back home. Instead, Seraphine had stolen every trending topic with a half-second margin.
But it didn't matter. The show she and Quinn had planned hadn't even started yet.
---
Kieran climbed out of his car, stripped off his gloves and helmet, and headed toward the rest area.
Seraphine walked a few steps ahead. He hesitated, then quickened his pace to fall in beside her. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. "You've trained before?"
Seraphine glanced at him sideways and shook her head. "A little."
Kieran almost rolled his eyes.
'A little' gets you from dead last to half a second behind the leader? He'd raced over two hundred professional events. He knew exactly what level of training produced that kind of skill.
Her precision through the apex, her judgment of braking points at high speed—none of that could be explained by 'a little.'
But she didn't quite move like a professional driver either. A pro wouldn't have been slow off the starting line.
He couldn't figure it out. All he felt was that Seraphine was a fraud.
Clearly an expert, pretending to be an amateur.
Clearly taking everything, pretending she didn't care.
He didn't press further. He sped up, passed her, and walked toward his own lounge.
---
Up in the viewing suite, Octavius hadn't moved from his seat.
His gaze had tracked Seraphine's every motion—stepping out of the car, removing the helmet, walking toward the rest area.
Then he stood, picked up the jacket she'd left on her chair, draped it over his arm, and headed in the same direction.
Elysia watched his retreating figure and elbowed Sloane, whispering: "He didn't blink once that entire time."
Before Sloane could answer, Clayton snatched the popcorn bucket from her arms, shoved two huge fistfuls into his mouth, and mumbled through the crunch: "I'm too hyped. I need calories."
Valencia shot him a glare. She was texting Caspian, her message short and direct.
[Your sister just took second on the track. Lost to Kieran by half a second. You missed it.]
Caspian's reply popped up seconds later. One word: [Video.]