Chapter 22 The Gauntlet Thrown
Chapter 22 The Gauntlet Thrown
The auctioneer’s voice, a sharp, percussive instrument, cut through the humid air of the exhibition hall, pulling me from my stunned silence. My heart was still hammering from Cassian’s reckless declaration. "Let's go buy you a car," he said. I was no longer a bystander in their world of colossal egos and even more colossal bank accounts; I was the central player in a game where the ante was a piece of Cassian’s empire.
I tugged at Cassian’s sleeve, my voice a frantic whisper. “Cassian, you can’t be serious. This is insane! I’m not racing him for two percent of your company!”
He didn’t even look at me, his gaze fixed on Sebastian's back with a predator’s calm. “I said it before and I mean it. You will. And you’ll win.”
“But—”
“The item now on the block,” the auctioneer boomed, “is a 2024 Aston Martin Valkyrie, one of only five in this spec. A true marvel of engineering. Do I hear three million?”
This was it. The "game" had begun. Sebastian, turned and with a final mocking wink in my direction, he melted into the crowd circling the stage. Cassian’s hand which was at the small of my back, steered me through the throng of billionaires and collectors until we had a clear view of the low-slung, venomous-looking hypercar.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, the mechanic in me momentarily overriding the terrified hostage.
“It’s a starting point,” Cassian replied, his voice devoid of all emotion, as if he were discussing a paperclip.
The bidding started fast, a dizzying volley of numbers from anonymous voices. Two-point-five. Two-point-eight. Three-point-two. Cassian remained silent, a statue of impatience amidst the frenzy.
“Four million,” a clear, feminine voice rang out. All heads, including mine, swiveled. Diana stood a few yards away, her crimson dress a declaration of war, a faint, challenging smile on her lips as she looked directly at Cassian.
The auctioneer beamed. “The lady bids four million! Do I have four-point-five?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He gave a curt, almost invisible nod to the auctioneer.
“We have four-point-five from Mr. Vale! Thank you, sir.”
Diana’s smile didn’t falter. “Five,” she said coolly.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. This was no longer just about a car; it was a public power play. I felt like a bone between two pit bulls.
“Six,” Cassian said, his first spoken bid a cold, hard finality.
Diana opened her mouth, but her manager, Kate, appeared at her elbow, whispering urgently in her ear. Diana’s smile finally cracked, replaced by a flash of raw frustration before she mastered it, giving a slight, conceding shake of her head. She had reached her limit, or her manager’s good sense had overruled her pride.
“Six million to Mr. Vale!” the auctioneer chanted. “Going once…”
“Seven,” a new voice drawled. Sebastian.
Cassian didn’t miss a beat. “Ten.”
The crowd gasped. He had just jumped three million dollars to squash the bid. The sheer, brutal dominance of the move left no room for argument. Sebastian simply chuckled, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast. He hadn’t wanted the Aston Martin; he’d just wanted to drive up the price.
“Sold! To Mr. Cassian Vale for ten million dollars!” The gavel slammed down, and the car was his. He turned to Felix, who materialized instantly at his shoulder.
“Have it taken to the track. I want the suspension calibrated for aggressive handling and the tire pressures checked for cold temperatures. Now,” Cassian ordered.
“At once, sir,” Felix responded, already on his phone.
I was still processing the casual obliteration of ten million dollars when the next car was rolled out. My breath caught. It was the one I’d been secretly eyeing all afternoon: a Porsche 911 GT3 RS, painted in a shade of liquid mercury. It wasn’t the most expensive car here, but it was a driver’s car, pure and uncompromising. My car.
Cassian followed my gaze. “That one?”
I could only nod.
The bidding for the Porsche was less frenzied but more determined. Sebastian jumped in immediately, and to my surprise, so did Diana, her bids sharp and precise. It was a targeted assault. They couldn’t beat Cassian on pure financial firepower, but they could make him bleed for this one, the car he’d clearly chosen for me.
The price climbed past two million, then two-point-five. Diana eventually dropped out with a sigh of exaggerated defeat. Sebastian, however, persisted.
“Three million,” Cassian stated, his voice flat.
“Three-point-one,” Sebastian countered, a grin in his voice.
“Five,” Cassian said.
Silence. The auctioneer, looking slightly dazed, called the sale. Cassian had just paid more than double the car’s market value without blinking. He turned to me as the gavel fell. “It’s yours. They’ll prep it.”
Before I could even stammer a thank you, Sebastian’s voice cut through again. “I’ll take that McLaren Senna over there,” he announced, pointing to a track-focused beast. “No need to prep it. I like my cars wild.”
The gauntlet had been purchased. The weapons were chosen.
An hour later, we stood at the starting line of a private track adjacent to the exhibition center. The air was cold, smelling of asphalt and anticipation. My silver Porsche and Sebastian’s orange McLaren sat side-by-side, engines off but seeming to vibrate with latent energy. The race was five laps. The rules were simple: win.
Cassian stood beside my open driver’s side door. “Remember,” he said, his voice low, “his car is more powerful on the straights. Yours is lighter, more agile. He’s aggressive, but he overdrives. He’ll make a mistake. Force him into it.”
“What if I can’t?” I whispered, my hands trembling on the steering wheel.
He leaned in, his presence a solid wall against my panic. “You can. This isn’t just about shares, Lysandra. This is about showing them you are not a toy. Now, go.”
He closed the door, the thunk echoing in the quiet cabin. I took a deep breath, the familiar scent of leather and carbon fiber filling my lungs. This was it. The starting lights began to glow, one by one.
Red… Red… Red…
Sebastian revved his engine, a deafening roar. I focused on the lights, my heart thudding in sync with their pulse.
Red… Red…
Green.
I slammed the accelerator. The Porsche shot forward, but the McLaren’s brutal horsepower gave it an explosive start. He pulled ahead by half a car length as we screamed towards the first corner. I braked late, feeling the tires grip, and sliced inside, my lighter car rotating faster. We exited the corner side-by-side, paint nearly touching.
The next few laps were a blur of g-forces, the shriek of engines, and the smell of burning rubber. I could feel Sebastian’s presence, a malevolent force just beside or behind me. He was relentless, using his car’s power to bully me on the straights, but I clung on, using every ounce of my skill to carry more speed through the corners, just as Cassian had said.
On the final lap, we were neck and neck. The finish line was a distant speck. I saw my chance on a tight, descending chicane. If I could get a better exit, I could beat him to the line.
I pushed harder, a fraction too hard. The rear of the Porsche lost grip, snapping out in a vicious oversteer. The world became a dizzying spin of sky and track. I fought the wheel, my instincts screaming, counter-steering, pumping the brakes, trying to catch the slide.
The car slewed sideways, tires screeching in protest, heading straight for the concrete barrier lining the track. I knew it, I was going to wreck it. I was going to lose. I was going to fail him. That's all I brought into his life, failure.
Time seemed to slow. The barrier rushed towards me. This was it.