Chapter 63
I sighed. I had been expecting this.
“I retired almost three years ago. I had a non–compete clause in my contract. I couldn’t race for anyone else for three years.”
he young man, who had been so excited earlier, suddenly grew serious.
His eyes locked onto mine, as if he was trying to piece something together.
“Wait,” he said slowly, “what’s your name?”
I hesitated.
For a long time, I had kept that part of my life buried, using a different name whenever I
raced.
But something about the way he looked at me made me feel like I owed him the truth.
“Liza.” I said quietly.
The moment the name left my lips, the crowd buzzed with excitement.
Several people immediately recognized it.
Liza had been a rising star in the racing world–a prodigy who had taken the racing scene
by storm.
The young man’s face lit up in recognition, but just as quickly, his expression turned angry.
“You’re the Liza?”
he asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.
“Why did you quit? You were on top of the world! You didn’t even race in the Monaco Grand Prix! You could’ve been world champion!”
He looked at me, his face full of hurt.
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“I was your fan. I saved up everything I had to watch you race. And then, the day before, you just… disappeared. You let everyone down.”
His words stung, and I didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
“Sorry?” he snapped.
you weren’t just irresponsible to your fans–you were irresponsible to yourself! You had a
gift, and you threw it all away!”
With that, he turned and walked off, leaving me standing there, guilt and regret swirling
inside me.
I stared after him, his words echoing in my mind.
Had I really thrown everything away?
I had sacrificed so much for a life that wasn’t truly mine.
Maybe it was time to take something back.
Later, as I sat in the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed with a new message.
It’s from my old fleet manager.
I glanced at the screen and saw a picture attached.
It was a shot of me, taken by the crowd when I won that street race not long ago.
Beneath the picture, a simple message followed:
“Miss Champion, I heard you’ve been street racing lately? So, are you considering making a
comeback?”
I hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over my phone before I finally typed out a
response.
“No, I’m just helping a friend with something small.”
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The reply came almost immediately, accompanied by a disappointed emoji.
“Alright, but if you ever want to return, please let me know. Ever since you left, our racing team’s performance has been declining. We haven’t won a championship in three years.”
My breath caught in my throat as I read the message.
The Sparco Racing Team–once a powerhouse in the racing world, a team that had gathered the top drivers from around the globe, consistently ranking at the top of every
mmpetition–had fallen from grace.
I couldn’t help but ask, fingers trembling slightly, What happened?
The answer came swiftly, and it stung.
“After you retired, a new team emerged- Flash Lighter Racing. They offered exorbitant amounts to lure away our drivers and crew. Now, Sparco Racing Team isn’t what it used to be. Only a few old friends who truly love the team remain. We all miss you, Cheryl.”
The weight of the words hung heavily in the air, wrapping around my heart like a vice.
I had once been at the center of that world, my life intertwined with the roar of engines and
the thrill of victory.
But that was three years ago, before everything changed.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally replied.
I closed my phone and let out a long, shaky breath, leaning back against the cool leather of
my car seat.
The street race earlier had been a rush of adrenaline, a flashback to the days when I was
unstoppable.
But it was also a harsh reminder of how much time had passed since I’d last raced
seriously.
Thé victory I had snatched tonight had been by the thinnest of margins–three years ago,
wouldn’t have even been a contest.
it-
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Can really return to that world?
I wondered, staring at the ceiling of my car.
Just then, my phone buzzed again.
I expected it to be another message from the racing manager, perhaps a plea to reconsider.
But when I glanced at the screen, the name that flashed up made my heart skip a beat.
Leo.
His voice was low and controlled when I answered, but I could sense the underlying
tension.
“Where did you rush off earlier?”
