Chapter 2

With a split second to spare, years of experience took over and I wrenched the wheel straight. But I was drenched in cold sweat, my heart monitor screaming. One lapse in focus and I'd have gone over the edge.

Then I found a problem far more critical — my right hand was broken.

The fractured bone had torn through skin and muscle. Blood poured freely, and still the car thundered on.

With my left hand trembling, I reached for the full-body safety system — and stopped cold. Every protective mechanism had been gutted and replaced with cosmetic features. My car had become the flashiest, most eye-catching vehicle on the track. In racing, that was a death wish.

Grayson kept cycling through the car's color displays, pausing now and then to debate with Natalie about which shade looked better.

They were laughing and joking around. Meanwhile, I was the lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

Helpless and pathetic.

The equipment that should have kept me alive had been stripped out and repurposed as a toy for Natalie to impress Grayson. My life meant nothing to her.

Their excited chatter felt like a death knell — mocking my helplessness with every word.

My knuckles went white. I bit down so hard I tasted blood.

"Natalie, stop this. I genuinely don't have this under control — people die when brakes fail. My right hand is broken. I can't move it. Get me backup. Now."

A dull thud — Grayson threw down the controller, his voice sullen.

"Babe, I'm done. This worthless life of mine isn't going to last much longer anyway. I shouldn't have upset him."

Natalie immediately turned on me, screaming.

"Ethan, that's enough! Could you show some compassion? Grayson is sick. He's a patient. Why do you have to be so petty? You want out? Not until Grayson has had enough fun."

People around them chimed in.

"Grayson, you've really hit the jackpot with Natalie — not every girl would bet her boyfriend's career and his life just to keep her first love happy. Respect."

"Still — Ethan's situation looks like it's getting pretty serious. Aren't you worried about him at all?"

Natalie answered without missing a beat, her voice rock-solid.

"He's faking it. He's pulling a stunt to get my attention. He tried the same trick last time — does he really think I'll fall for it twice?"

"You all know Ethan. Arrogant, self-centered. This is just my way of keeping him in line."

She was putting my life on the line as a "method of keeping him in line"? Did she actually think I was a god? What was I to her?

The "last time" she referenced — her little crew had staged a fake kidnapping, claiming Natalie had been taken. They gave me one hour to abandon the race and drive over a thousand kilometers to "save" her.

I'd sacrificed the ranking I'd bled for, wrecked my car, and gotten injured in the process. When she found out, she'd seemed genuinely torn up about it. Now I was learning she'd thought I was running a con on her the whole time.

"Ha, that's right — Natalie always knows how to handle men."

That finally pulled Grayson out of his sulk. He went right back to his little performance with the controls.

The constant visual changes made my competitor, Drake, think I was deliberately provoking him. He came at me without hesitation.

Three thunderous impacts — Drake's reinforced bumper slammed into my rear. A shrill warning alarm pierced the air. Drake's furious curses followed.

The collision knocked the air out of me. I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Every organ in my body felt like it was being wrung out. Each breath scraped through what was left of my lungs like sandpaper.

My head pounded. My car was beyond my control. My life was in someone else's hands.

That realization nearly sent me over the edge.

If this kept up, I had one way out: a coffin.

I made a decision — a desperate one.