Sophia Sullivan rested her chin lazily on her palm.
Her eyes followed the speeding figures on the racetrack with undisguised disdain.
"These people are insane, gambling with their lives," she muttered under her breath, her tone dripping with contempt.
"Though I suppose half a million dollars plus the Sullivan family heirloom is enough for commoners to live on for life."
To her, only those from the lower class would risk their lives for such petty sums.
Liam Winston frowned slightly.
He hadn't expected such condescending words from Sophia.
"Some compete not for money, but purely for the love of the sport," he said, his gaze lingering on the track with visible yearning.
Truth be told, Liam had always wanted to experience this adrenaline-fueled thrill.
Yet he'd never found the courage to step onto the track.
Forever destined to be just a spectator.
Noticing his displeasure, Sophia immediately adopted a pitiful expression.
"Liam, I'm just scared. You know how timid I am," she cooed, batting her eyelashes.
Liam softened.
Perhaps he'd been too harsh.
After all, such dangerous races would make anyone nervous.
"Don't worry, I'm here," he said, pulling Sophia into an embrace.
This intimate scene caught the attention of Mr. Roland, who had just finished his race.
Mr. Roland had originally come to discuss a business collaboration.
But after overhearing Sophia's remarks, he changed his mind immediately.
"Inform Mr. Winston the deal is off," he instructed his assistant.
Having navigated the business world for decades, Mr. Roland had sharp instincts.
A few sentences were all it took to reveal the couple's true colors.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he took a seat elsewhere.
While cheering for the racers, he studied Liam from the corner of his eye.
Mr. Roland couldn't help shaking his head in disappointment.
"Such a shame. Mr. Winston Sr. built an empire, only for his descendants to turn out like this," he murmured to himself.
It wasn't that he enjoyed meddling, but their narrow-mindedness offended him.
One didn't need to understand a sport to respect its participants.
Nor should one wear their contempt so openly.
"That Winston boy is hopeless," he concluded.
Just as he sighed, the stadium erupted in gasps.
Zephyr, the leading racer, was being overtaken!
Spectators jumped to their feet, straining to see the track.
"Look! Sweetheart is passing him!"
"They're neck and neck now!"
"Who is that woman? She must be a professional!"
Even Sophia stood up anxiously.
She'd arranged for someone to cheat—how could they still be losing?
...
On the track, Sophia Sullivan accelerated again.
The roaring wind drowned out her pounding heartbeat as she pulled alongside Ethan Sullivan.
Their red and black vehicles streaked across the course.
Leaving all other competitors in the dust.
The crowd went wild!
Cheers for Sophia rose above the din.
"Go Sweetheart!"
"Take the lead!"
"Now this is a real championship match!"
Amid the chaos, no one noticed the black-clad racer trailing far behind.
He spat in disgust.
"What kind of champion is this?"
The man glared at the leading pair.
He'd taken Chloe Evans' money—failure wasn't an option.
There was only one solution now—
Take the shortcut and ram them.
Force them off course.
Make them lose control at the curve.
Death or dismemberment—either would suffice.
They'd signed the death waiver anyway.
No consequences would follow.