Chapter 81

Chapter 81:

Ava glanced up and saw Bobby already seated in the car. Wasting no time, she sprinted toward him, shouting,

“Wait, Bobby! I’m coming with you p>

Bobby was already struggling with a growing sense of frustration, his mind weighed down by worry for Cristian—and for his angel. Hearing Ava insist on joining only added to his irritation. He shot her a sharp look.

“Why do you want to come p>

“Did something happen to Cristian? I’m worried too.” Ava’s voice trembled with concern as she looked at him with pleading eyes. “Please, let me come. I swear I won’t get in the way. Just let me help p>

Bobby didn’t have the energy to argue. With a weary sigh, he waved her in. Ava didn’t hesitate, sliding into the seat next to him just as the car engine rumbled to life.

“It’s alright, Mr. Harper. Just ten more minutes,” the organizer reassured him from the front.

Bobby gave a slight nod, then turned his gaze to the scenery blurring past the window.

Meanwhile, down the slope, Fernanda was closely examining her dislocated ankle.

Carefully, she prodded the injured joint, trying to assess how bad the damage was.

“Relax, Fernanda. They’ll be here any minute,” Cristian said, his voice calm but firm. “You really shouldn’t mess with that injury. You’ll only make it worse—and hurt yourself even more p>

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Fernanda remained silent, ignoring his advice as she continued to probe her swollen ankle.

while the other gripped her foot. In one swift, deliberate motion, she twisted. A sharp pop echoed through the air, and beads of cold sweat immediately formed on her forehead.

Her teeth sank into her lip, her face draining of color. The pressure split her lip open, and a small streak of blood smeared across her skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cristian exclaimed, alarmed by her sudden move. He rushed to steady her shoulders, his voice sharp.

“Why would you mess with your foot p>

“It’s over,” Fernanda muttered in a raspy voice, every word strained by pain.

Using a nearby tree for support, she carefully pushed herself upright. Though her foot still throbbed, she was relieved to feel it move again, even if only slightly.

Cristian stared at her, completely stunned that she had managed to reset her own dislocated ankle.

Having experienced injuries himself, he knew firsthand how unbearable the pain of a dislocated joint could be. And resetting it? That was another level of agony entirely.

He’d seen strong men scream and women cry in similar situations, yet Fernanda had done it without making a sound.

Cristian crouched where he stood, still in shock.

The way Fernanda had handled everything was more than he could process in the moment.

The spell broke when Cristian heard Bobby’s voice calling from above the slope.

“Cristian? Are you down there p>

Jolted back to the present, Cristian quickly called out, “Yeah, we’re here p>

Bobby let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Turning to the organizer, he said, “They’re down there. Get moving, help them p>

Without wasting another moment, Bobby began making his way down the slope, stumbling here and there as he went.

The slope was slick, and though he took a few spills, it didn’t slow him down. He kept shouting, “Cristian, hang on, we’re almost there p>

Cristian pushed himself to his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness after crouching for so long.

He propped himself against a nearby tree, glancing over at Fernanda, who had settled back down.

“They’re here,” he said quietly.

“That was fast,” Fernanda remarked, clearly surprised. “Faster than I thought it would be p>

“Well, if you’d just waited a bit longer, you wouldn’t have had to fix your ankle yourself,” Cristian sighed. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to let a doctor take care of it p>

The last rays of evening sunlight filtered through the branches, casting playful shadows across the ground. A few beams brushed against Cristian’s face, giving his features an almost otherworldly glow.

A gentle breeze swept across the mountain, lifting a few strands of Fernanda’s hair. Her voice, as soft as the wind, followed.

“Does it really matter if I do it, or if a doctor handles it? Would it hurt any less if a doctor did it p>

Cristian was taken aback, not quite expecting her to respond like that.

He instinctively wanted to argue that a doctor’s method would be more professional, but Fernanda’s swift and sure movements left no room for doubt.

After a moment of quiet, Cristian shook his head, muttering, “You really never stop surprising me p>

Her strength was almost heartbreaking to witness—it was clear just how resilient she really was.

By the time Bobby finally reached the bottom, he was a complete wreck. During the last stretch, he had resorted to sliding down the slope on his backside to avoid another fall. His red motorcycle suit was now caked in mud. Bobby wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, only to smear more dirt across his face, making him look even messier.

He was breathless as he leaned on his knees for support.

“What happened to you two p>

He took a quick glance around, noting that Cristian was standing just fine while his angel sat on the ground, looking worse for wear but conscious.

The organizer and a few emergency responders arrived moments later, carrying the stretcher Cristian had requested. As soon as the stretcher was set down, Fernanda was about to move toward it when Cristian stepped forward, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and gently placed her onto it.

Bobby’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was no time to dwell on it.

“So she really got injured?” he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Cristian gave a solemn nod, then pointed toward her motorcycle still lying nearby, gesturing to the organizer.

“Get the motorcycle moved too,” he instructed.

In racing incidents like this, the vehicles were typically kept intact for investigation, to determine exactly what had gone wrong.

Two members of the medical team carefully lifted the stretcher, while others began preparing to move Fernanda’s bike. Climbing back up the slope on foot wasn’t an option, but thankfully, a narrow path at the base led to a dirt road that connected to the main highway a few kilometers away—accessible for vehicles.

The organizer wasted no time and contacted the team, explaining the situation and instructing them to dispatch vehicles to wait at the entrance of the main road.

One of the medical staff quickly assessed Fernanda’s condition and confirmed that there were no major injuries, offering a much-needed sense of relief to both Cristian and Bobby.

“What happened, exactly?” Bobby asked, his voice tinged with concern. “You were doing fine in the race—how did you end up falling off the slope p>

He had seen Fernanda ride many times before. She was clearly skilled, and an accident like this didn’t align with her usual performance. Besides, the road they’d reviewed earlier had only a couple of turns and no obvious hazards. How could she have fallen?

Fernanda pressed her lips together and answered plainly, “I was forced off the road p>

Cristian’s brow immediately furrowed. “What do you mean? Tell me exactly what happened p>

“First, my brakes failed. Then, as I was turning, someone came up from behind and pushed me toward the edge of the road. I don’t know why, but it was definitely intentional. After that, he kicked my motorcycle. With no brakes to stop me, I couldn’t control it and went over the edge p>

Though Fernanda recounted the incident with composure, Cristian and Bobby could already visualize the danger and intensity of the scene she had just described.

“Brake failure? That’s not possible,” Bobby muttered, clearly troubled. “Before every race, the motorcycles are inspected thoroughly by professionals. There’s no way that should’ve happened p>

They had inspected every motorcycle just an hour before the race began, and there had been no issues. How could Fernanda’s brakes have failed?

Cristian’s focus narrowed to the person who had kicked Fernanda’s motorcycle. From her account, it was clear the act had been intentional.

“Can you remember anything about the person who kicked your motorcycle?” Cristian asked.

Fernanda shook her head slightly, a faint frown forming on her lips. “He had a helmet on, so I couldn’t see his face. All I remember is that he was wearing a green motorcycle suit p>

“A lot of people were wearing green suits in the race today,” Cristian noted, his mind scanning through the possibilities.

“Whoever did this, we’ll find him when we get back,” Bobby declared, his voice sharp with fury. “Doing something like that—could it be considered attempted murder? I’m not letting this slide p>

Cristian gave a firm nod, his jaw tight with determination. “I’ll find him. And he’s going to pay for this p>